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FRANKLIN 

AND OTHER PLAYS 








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FRANKLIN 

AND 

OTHER PLAYS 

By RITA BENTON J 

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THE WRITERS PUBLISHING CO., Inc. 

NEW YORK 


1924 




Es$3,4flh 

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Copyright, 1924 
By 

RITA BENTON 

All dramatic rights in these plays are fully protected 
by copyright. 

For the right of performance application must be 
made to the author. 


MAR 29 1924 ^ 


, ©CI.D 


67258 ^ 

4 


wa v 


To 

Dr. E. H. Lewis 

whose gentle criticism prevented this hook 
from being worse. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Benjamin Franklin. 9 

Coming Down the Mount .109 


Margaret of Salem 


175 





INTRODUCTION 


Camera men, sob sisters, special writers who can 
extract human interest from a stone crusher! emi¬ 
nent criminologists, alienists, psychiatrists, sociolo¬ 
gists ; artists, cartoonists, moving-picture magnates 
. . . what an opportunity they missed! The least 
interesting of sordid crimes today is more com¬ 
pletely recorded than the Life of Dr. Samuel John¬ 
son, but the one Life and Death which, more than 
any other since the invention of writing, has influ¬ 
enced humanity, was so badly reported that count¬ 
less millions of words of exegesis have been printed 
to fill in the gaps! 

What did these grave, bearded men, their fore¬ 
heads bound with broad phylacteries. Scribes and 
Pharisees; what did these lawyers and religious 
leaders really think of the gentle Nazarene who, 
for a time at least, overthrew their order? They 
have left no record. 

What of the inarticulate anguish of the faithful 
few, soon to be changed to triumphant exultation? 
What were the innermost feelings of the blind man 
who might have been cured? Of Mary, of Martha, 
of the High Priest and the Governor of Jerusalem? 

Jesus does not appear in the play Coming Down 
the Mount, save in the reaction produced through 
these widely differing personages. To me, a student 
of theology in youth and early manhood ... a 
student still, if I may be permitted to say so . . . 
Rita Benton has re-created these characters of the 
great world tragedy, has invested them with life and 
emotion, in contrast with which the average sermon 
is no more vital than the image of some prehistoric 
animal worked up by a paleontologist from a hand¬ 
ful of bones. 


5 


INTRODUCTION 


I believe this play to be devout in tone and re¬ 
ligious in purpose. 

But I suspect that, humanity having changed very 
little in 1900 years either in emotional qualities or 
mental processes, there are many men and women 
today who may find themselves limned under ancient 
names, and will insist that the author’s portraits are 
caricatures. After all, when one holds the mirror 
up to nature, it cannot be expected that everyone 
will be pleased. Indeed, having been privileged to 
read the manuscript, I ventured to suggest to the 
author that if perchance there yet survived any of 
the types of the Scribes and Pharisees, they might 
be deeply offended and perhaps resentful. 

But the author had the courage of her convictions, 
in additional proof of which this volume contains a 
play dealing with Puritanism. 

It may be that I am prejudiced against Puri¬ 
tanism, because to me, books and music, pictures 
and plays, and even games, are more necessary 
than meat; and I confess to more reverence for 
Bacchus and Ceres than for Cotton Mather and 
Billy Sunday. Those who believe that the only way 
to please God is to' deny ourselves whatever He 
has permitted us to create that is beautiful will hate 
the idea of playing harp with me in a future ex¬ 
istence as keenly as I dislike meeting them now; 
but I know them well enough to feel sure that they 
will be horrified to find it hinted in Margaret of 
Salem that all New Engand was not acting under 
plenary inspiration of the Almighty when the Puri¬ 
tans found their favorite amusements in hunting 
witches and persecuting Quakers. 

Some of them have forgiven Hawthorne for 
writing about the Rev. Mr. Dimmesdale, but will 
they forgive the suggestion that envy, hatred and 
malice may have motivated the councils of the 
elect, and that inability under stress of great ex¬ 
citement to remember a simple formula may easily 
be taken as proof that innocence is guilt? 


INTRODUCTION 


7 


What I really fear for the author is that the 
theatrical managers, none of whom is a Puritan, 
to my knowledge, will not forgive her for failing 
to provide a happy ending for this play, as George 
Bernard Shaw did for ‘‘The Devil’s Disciple.” True, 
Shaw made the Puritanism of Mrs. Dudgeon most 
unlovely, but (albeit with his tongue in his cheek) 
he makes his parson the real hero, which not only 
takes the sting out of the satire, but meets the box 
office point of view by leaving Dick unhung. I 
couple these plays deliberately. When Mansfield 
produced “The Devil’s Disciple” I wrote for a 
Chicago magazine what was, I believe, the first 100 
per cent appreciation it received in this country. 
And I am glad to record in advance of any per¬ 
formance my very genuine admiration for Margaret 
of Salem, the best play dealing with Puritanism, in 
my opinion since then. 

As to Franklin, the reader has the respectful as¬ 
surance of one of that great American’s most ardent 
admirers that the philosopher talks in character, 
most of the time. The wit, the humor, the sound 
sense of this erstwhile Printer’s Devil who “snatched 
the thunderbolt from heaven, the sceptre from 
tyrants,” betrays a profound knowledge on the 
author’s part of the Autobiography, Letters, and 
indeed, every scrap of writing that could in any way 
illuminate the character of her favourite hero. It is 
Franklin himself who speaks to you in this play, 
amid surroundings more faithfully reproduced than 
is ordinarily possible in an historical drama. Nor 
is the portraiture of Caron de Beaumarchais and 
of the British statesmen less exact. 

Of more than three dozen plays written by Rita 
Benton the three in this volume are the only ones 
not tested in actual performance. Most of the 
earlier plays have been published, and in chronologi¬ 
cal order of writing they grouped as Bible Plays, 
Shorter Bible Plays, and The Star-Child and Other 
Plays. In the order of book publication the se- 


8 


INTRODUCTION 


quence was reversed. All were written for and 
have been played by children in Chicago and else¬ 
where. All are being played now. 

The Star-Child and Other Plays, published in 
1921, the author’s first book, won instant and unani¬ 
mous commendation of the critics. A kindly but 
anonymous reviewer who devoted a column to these 
juvenile dramas in the New York Evening Post, 
intimated that the author might well spare time 
enough to write some plays for grown folk. I do 
not say that the creation of Franklin and Other 
Plays was thus inspired; but I think he will agree, 
when this volume reaches him through the cus¬ 
tomary channels, that his challenge has been met 
. . . abundantly. 

L. J. de Bekker 


New York, January, 1924 . 



FRANKLIN 


I 




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THE CHARACTERS 


Benjamin Franklin .Agent of the colonies in Lon¬ 

don, then Paris. 

Sally Franklin .Distant niece of Franklin. 

Mrs. Howe .of London. 

Lord Howe .Her brother. 

Lord Desmond. 

Lord Guildford. 

Lord Storemont .^-Members of the Privy Council. 

Lord Sandwich. 

Lord North. 

Earl of Gower .President of Privy Council. 

Will Whately .of London. 


Thomas Hutchinson.. 
Wedderburn. 


. Governor of Massachusetts. 

. Counsel for the crown. 

Arthur Lee .Agent to succeed Franklin in 

London. 

Caron de Beaumarchais. . French Playwright. 

John Adams .of the Continental Congress. 

Arthur Rutledge .of the Continental Congress. 

Madame Helvetius .of Paris. 

Madame de Chaumont -of Paris. 

M. de Chaumont .of Paris. 

Abbe Morellet .of Paris. 

Count Vergennes .French minister of war. 

Members of Privy Council, servants, secretary, pastry-cook. 


11 






















1774—1776—1778 


ACT I. Mrs. Howe's garden — London. 1774. 

ACT II. Meeting of Privy Council in cock¬ 
pit. 1774. 

ACT III. Room in Franklin’s lodging on 
Staten Island. 1776. 

ACT IV. Home of Franklin at Passy, France. 
1778. 

ACT V. Small room in palace of Tuileries. 
1778. 

If desired, the same panelled setting may be used 
for the last four acts with changes for Gothic win¬ 
dow embrasure (Act II), to Dutch Portraits (Act 
III), to scenes from Watteau (Act IV), to Stained 
Glass bearing arms of France (Act V). 


12 


FOREWORD 


The year 1774 was one of strain between England 
and her American colonies. The misrepresentative 
English Government of the period valued the colonies 
only as a taxable property, the mass of the English 
people having about as little voice in colonial matters 
then as now. The American slogan was: “No taxa¬ 
tion without representation.” Their spirit ex¬ 
pressed itself in the motto on their rattlesnake flag: 
“Don’t tread on me.” 

In spite of many right-minded men (according to 
American ideas), such as Burke, Chatham, Fox, 
Hyde, Howe, the cabal in the British Ministry, 
formed of lords who looked for nothing but divi¬ 
dends from their over-sea possessions, was slowly 
cutting the cable which linked America to England. 

Said Franklin: “I am a little of the sailor’s mind 
when dragging a long cable out of the shop into the 
ship. ‘Heaven help us,’ cried the one, “tis a long 
cable! Would we could see the end of ’t!’ 
‘Damme,’ cried the other, ‘if I believe it has an 
end at all. Someone has cut it off!’ British red 
tape makes coils without an end” 

The tax on tea, epitome of the colonies’ grievances, 
stirred them to protest. Petition followed petition, 
unwillingly received by the King and answered vin¬ 
dictively by the close of Boston Port, the quartering 
of troops and the like. Loyalty to England strug¬ 
gled with resentment, when suddenly a scapegoat 
was found in the person of Thomas Hutchinson, 
royal Governor of Massachusetts, but a native born 
American who had advised the discipline of America 
as of a refractory child. 


13 


14 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Eagerly they petitioned his dismissal. Their peti¬ 
tion fell on the ears of an England infuriated by the 
Boston Tea Party. 

Tea may be the beverage which soothes but not 
inebriates, but the Boston Tea Party was as in¬ 
toxicating as modern prohibition, and soon set the 
two countries to fisticuffs. 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


ACT I 

Mrs. Howe’s garden, adjoining her house in Lon¬ 
don, a favorite' rendezvous of Franklin, is sur¬ 
rounded hy solid six-foot box hedges {made, not 
painted ), trimmed squarely. At the back, toward 
the left, is a wide opening, at each side of which the 
box trees rise higher, trimmed pyramidically, or fan¬ 
tastically cut as peacocks. From the opening, broad 
shallow steps lead out of garden, curving left toward 
the house, which is not visible. The steps are bor¬ 
dered by a continuation of the hedges. Beyond the 
hedge is a gray-blue English sky. At extreme left 
front is a smaller opening into the East Garden, 
framed in box peacocks . 

Within the garden, criss-cross from the entrance 
is a tall evergreen {made solid). Beneath its shade 
are several easy chairs, one at the right, and two at 
the left, facing one another, with a chess table be¬ 
tween. Mrs. Howe, a dominant lady of sixty or 
thereabouts, who reveres nor God nor man, save 
Franklin, is seated at the table, working out a 
chess puzzle. Her brother, Lord Howe, the finest 
and gentlest of men, is pacing restlessly to and fro, 
possessed with the uneasiness of a peace-loving man. 

The scene opens with brilliant sunshine, changing 
to deep gold. The shadows gradually obscure the 
blue of the sky as the scene advances. The servants 
bring torches and set them up about the garden just 
before the last guests arrive. The date is if 74 . 


16 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Howe. When does your great chess-player 
come? 

Mrs. Howe. Eh? Franklin? 

Howe. Aye, aye, your postmaster—scientist— 
diplomat—what not? An able man, and a dan¬ 
gerous ! 

Mrs. Howe. Ah, bah! Where's your sense of 
humour? He jests at us, and ye construe his jests 
in sober earnest. 

Howe. How else can we construe ’em? See you, 
Carrie, he clothes his earnestness with jests. 

Mrs. Howe (stares up at him). Howe, I 
wronged ye! Ye’ve got a deep mind. 

Howe. I tell you, he menaces England’s peace. 

Mrs. Howe. Piff! He’s our Light in the Heav¬ 
ens—pointing the way to peace—had our wise men 
but wit to discern it 

Howe. Peace with conditions. 

Mrs. Howe {quickly). Ah, be honest, Howe, 
what of those conditions? Are they unfair? 

Howe. Um—m, no! 

Mrs. Howe. Unreasonable? 

Howe. Um—m, no! 

Mrs. Howe. Contrary to the spirit of old Eng¬ 
land? 

Howe. Um—m, no! 

Mrs. Howe {impatiently). Then what in the 
devil’s name’s the matter? 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


1 7 


Howe. England won’t grant ’em. 

Mrs. Howe. Poor peace-maker—Dr. Franklin! 
Our wise men are fools. 

Howe. We must tide over the present discontent 
in America. You sound him, Carrie; discover what 
will weigh with him. 

Mrs. Howe. See if he’s bribable? Get thee be¬ 
hind me! 

Howe. He must help us. (He walks a few 
paces, then returns.) I’ve asked a few Privy Coun¬ 
cilors to meet him. 

Mrs. Howe. Privy Councilors! Pfui! Why 
Privy Councilors ? Men who sell to the highest bid¬ 
der? 

Howe {shrugs): They decide America’s fate. 
{He looks at watch.) They’ll be here soon. 

Mrs. Howe. Cool, i’ faith! I want Franklin to 
myself for a game of chess before the world comes 
calling. 

Howe. My dear—lock your doors. 

Mrs. Howe. Why this privacy, my good sir? 

Howe. Public proceedings must be kept private. 

Mrs. Howe. Howe, you’re Irish. 

Howe. I mean, the public can’t be trusted to 
manage- 

Mrs. Howe. Their own affairs ? La-la! 

Howe { shrugs ). The end justifies- 

Mrs. Howe. The end! Poor deluded man, are 




18 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


ye talking of an end? My word, Lord Howe, there’ll 
be no end, till ye give the colonials justice. D’ye 
hear? 

Howe (imperturbably) . I hear. 

Mrs. Howe, And as for locking the world away 
from Franklin! Impossible! That brazen French 
hussy is coming. 

Howe (eagerly). Madame Helvetius? Is she in 
London. 

Mrs. Howe. Whom you admire so hugely- 

Storemont and Whately descend steps leading 
to garden. Howe moves to meet them. 

Mrs. Howe (calling after). And who has no eye 
for anyone but Franklin. 

Storemont. Madam, may I present Mr. Will 
Whately ? 

Mrs. Howe. Will Whately? I knew your 
brother, sir. Before he died, he and Thomas 
Hutchinson, of Massachusetts, used to come here 
often. 

W r HATELY. Gad, they were great friends, Ma’am! 
Together they pushed through this American policy 
which is raising such a devil of a row. 

Howe (with interest). What’s that? What’s 
that? 

Whately. I don’t know details. My brother 
served as go-between. Hutchinson, in his letters, 
urged severity as the one measure likely to bring the 
Massachusetts rebels to their senses. My brother 
carried these letters into Parliament,-and Parlia¬ 

ment followed Hutchinson’s advice. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


19 


Howe. Which was-? 

Whately. The closing of Boston Port, the 
quartering of troops, and the like. 

t Howe. Hum ! So Hutchinson, an American, has 
dictated England’s policy. Does America know it? 

Whately. How should she? 

Storemont Ungers the chess men uneasily, then 
moves away, regarding the box peacocks. 

Howe. If it were known, it would not add to 
Hutchinson’s popularity in the rebel town of Boston. 

•Whately. O, good Lord! They’d tar and 
feather him. 

Howe {severely) . I would advise you then, sir, be 
discreet! 

The Servant ushers in two men. Storemont 
and Whately draw aside to the left. 

Servant. Lord Guildford, Ma’am! Lord Des¬ 
mond! {Exit.) 

Mrs. Howe. How d’ye do? You’re not at all 
welcome, sirs. I wanted Franklin to myself for a 
bit. 

Desmond {chuckles). Ah, you ladies! Why is 
it Franklin’s such a centre of attraction? 

Mrs. Howe {sharply). Because he draws the 
best out of folk—instead of trying to shine himself. 

Guildford. A hit, Desmond! A hit! 

Desmond {bowing). It is easy to strike sparks 
from Mrs. Howe, 


20 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Howe ( looks at Mrs. Howe questioningly , but 
she settles herself in chair to listen). Gentlemen, 
affairs are criss-cross in America. The question is, 
is Franklin the man to handle the affair? 

Desmond. How much does he ask? 

Guildford ( throwing himself lazily into chair on 
other side of tree). What the deuce are the col¬ 
onies complaining of anyway? 

Howe. They complain we have one code for 
England and another for America. 

Guildford ( sitting up straight). Good Lord! 
Why shouldn’t we? 

Mrs. Howe. Why should we? 

Desmond. Er—er—they’re colonials- 

Howe. The root of the trouble! Why in Amer¬ 
ica, any more than in England, should there be taxa¬ 
tion without representation? 

Desmond. But that’s what colonies are for. 

Guildford ( reclining again). It’s a great bore, 
certainly! 

Desmond. Well, what’s to be done? 

Mrs. Howe. O la, gentlemen, I can tell ye: 
Give Dr. Franklin anything he asks for. It’ll save 
ye the trouble of thinking. 

Guildford. Gad, there’s Sandwich! 

Lord Sandwich hastens in with Caron de 
Beaumarchais. Howe and Desmond draw back . 


Sandwich. Lord, Ma’am, I’ve hastened! Pre¬ 
sent M. Beaumarchais of Paris, Y’know, the fellow 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


21 


who wrote—what the devil’s the name of your piece? 
I slept through your reading of it one night. 

Beaumarchais ( bowing). The Barber of Seville. 

Desmond. Gad, Sandwich, I saw ye clap it. 

Sandwich. Have I manners or have I not ? (He 
turns to Mrs. Howe.) He wants to meet Franklin, 
so I brought him along. It’s all right, ain’t it? 

Mrs. Howe. You need never ask pardon for 
your manners, dear Lord Sandwich. 

Beaumarchais. Your pardon if I intrude. I 
would meet your greatest Englishman, the man 
who has shed such floods of light upon Europe— 
the sage whom two worlds claim. 

Desmond (stares at him). Good Lord! 

Sandwich (waving paper he carries). Here sirs, 
here’s news for ye! I got it at Will’s coffee house, 
just printed. (Throws himself into chair opposite 
Mrs. Howe.) 

Mrs. Howe. What is it? 

Desmond (taking and reading). What a damn 
bold proposition! 

Mrs. Howe. Let me see’t, m’lord. 

Guildford (getting up and looking over Des¬ 
mond’s shoulder). Insolent! (Passes it to Howe.) 

Sandwich. What d’ye make of it? 

Mrs. Howe. Howe, give me that paper. (Howe 
meekly hands it to her. She glances at it, then 
looks up.) Frederick of Prussia claims the right to 
England ? 

Howe. A jest! 


22 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Sandwich. No, no! Read! 

All cluster about Mrs. Howe, save Beaumar¬ 
chais, who stands at a slight distance regarding the 
scene with amusement. 

Mrs. Howe {reads). “Frederick, by the grace 
of God-” 

Sandwich. Or the devil! 

Mrs. Howe. “King of Prussia, to our English 
subjects! ! ! !” 

Sandwich. Go on! Go on! 

Mrs. Howe. “Whereas it is well known to his¬ 
tory that England was first settled by the Germans, 
under the leadership of Hengist, Horsa and others, 
and that these colonies have flourished, yet have 
yielded us small profit-” 

Desmond. I like his impudence. 

Mrs. Howe. “We hereby order that all goods 
exported from the isle of Britain shall pay a tax of 
four per cent to us and our successors.” 

All. Eh ? 

Mrs. Howe. Howe, lend me your glasses, man; 
sure, my eyesight’s failing. {She reads again.) 
Sure, it can’t mean what it says. 

Sandwich. Did ye ever hear the like? 

Mrs. Howe. “That all vessels sailing from Eng¬ 
land shall stop at our own port of Koeningsberg, to 
be unladen, searched and charged with duties.” {She 
looks up, heaving a sigh of relief.) A monstrous 
joke of Frederick! 


Desmond. Would he dare? 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


23 


Sandwich. But listen—there’s more yet! ( He 
takes paper from Mrs. Howe and reads.) “Further¬ 
more, we command that all thieves, murderers and 
villains be emptied from our gaols into said isle of 
Britain for their better peopling-” 

Guildford. Lord, is he addled? 

Storemont. I dare say we shall hear by the next 
boat that he’s upon his way with all his armies to 
back this proposition. 

Desmond. Fancy! Pay a tax to Prussia! Allow 
the scum of foreign gaols to land here! What coun¬ 
try would submit to such demands! 

Franklin with his niece enter on last line. 

Franklin ( on step). No country on God’s earth, 
gentlemen! Nor will America! 

Exclamations of “Franklin! Franklin at last!” 
greet him as he brings forward his young niece, 
Sally Franklin. 

Franklin. Madam, may I entreat your favor 
for my little niece from Boston, come over to lose 
her wild Indian ways, and to learn to love the 
mother country? 

Sally Franklin ( pretty, shy, ill-at-ease, flushes). 
No—sir! 

Mrs. Howe {kindly). My dear, pay no heed to 
his jokes. We know all good Americans love the 
mother country. 

Sally Franklin {flushing still more). No— 
ma’am! 

Mrs. Howe {amused). Ah, we’ll try to teach 
you. {She draws her aside to table.) 



24 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Sandwich. Dr. Franklin, may I present to you 
M. Beaumarchais of Paris? 

Beaumarchais ( advances bowing). I am most 
honoured. We in France have watched Dr. Frank¬ 
lin and his heroic efforts to—how do you say it— 
chain ?—bind ?—fetter ?—America to England. (He 
looks over toward Sally Franklin who listens ab¬ 
sorbed.) Eh, Mademoiselle? 

Franklin. Sir, her union with England is Amer¬ 
ica’s pride. 

Beaumarchais (gaily). See these gentlemen 
look daggers at me! 

Howe ( gravely ). The troubles of a mother coun¬ 
try and her child can scarcely interest a foreign 
nation. 

Beaumarchais. Pardon. They interest ex-ceed- 
ingly. 

Howe. They do not justify interference, sir. 

Beaumarchais (lightly). When a child is ill- 
treated—the neighbors rush in. Bah, I am no 
diplomat! 

Whately. Tis evident. 

Beaumarchais. Diplomacy—to pretend to be 
ignorant of what everyone else knows, or to know 
what everyone else does not know—to seem deep 
when one is only empty and hollow—to set spies and 
pension traitors—there’s diplomacy or I’m a dead 
man! Frankness is my metier, so—should the hour 
come- 

Franklin (smiling). When English liberty 
needs defence ’gainst England? 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 25 

Beaumarchais. Exactly! France lies across the 
water. 

Howe. Is France so free? 

Sandwich. I have heard tales of a certain— 
er—poet—clapped into prison for exercising that 
frankness which is his metier. 

Beaumarchais. Truly, my lord. France is as 
free as England. Provided I do not speak of the 
government, nor of religion, nor of political matters, 
nor of questions of morality, nor of people in place, 
nor of any powerful corporation, nor of the opera, 
nor cf anybody who was anything, I can print all I 
like, freely, under the inspection of two or three cen¬ 
sors. 

(All laugh,) 

Franklin. Monsieur, your words are kind, but 
we, England and Apierica, make up the mightiest 
empire on earth. Divided—who can wish for a 
division? If in my few remaining years of life I 
can cement our union still more strongly, gladly I 
give myself- 

Desmond. Bravo, sir! 

Howe. If all Americans but resembled Dr. Frank¬ 
lin! 

Franklin. Sir, you mistake. The difficulty is 
that all Englishmen do not imitate Lord Howe. 

Howe {indicating paper). Have you seen this, 
Dr. Franklin? Is it a jest? 

Franklin {glancing at it). A jest in earnest. 

(Howe and Mrs. Howe exchange glances.) But 
—read to the end, my lord. 


26 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Howe {reads). “We flatter ourselves that these 
commands will be thought reasonable by our colo¬ 
nists in England, since they are copied from their 
own laws, made by their parliament for the govern¬ 
ing of their own colonies—in America.” 

Guildford. Impossible! 

Franklin. But true! 

Desmond. No wonder America don’t like the 
scum of our gaols to be dumped there! 

Sandwich ( sneeringly ). Rot! That’s not what 
they kick at. It’s what touches their pocket-books, 
eh, Guildford? 

Franklin {quietly). Yet we empty ’em on prin¬ 
ciple. I have but little I can call my own, but 
nineteen shillings in the pound I’ll spend to defend 
my right to give or to refuse the other shilling. 

Howe. Do all feel so strongly? 

Franklin. I am considered moderate at home, 
even luke-warm and slow. 

Mrs. Howe. A libel! No one can be called slow 
who’s bottled lightning. Be a kind of lightning rod, 
dear Doctor; draw off the storm that’s brewing. 

Franklin {ruefully). On my head? I fear I 
shall. 

Servant enters. 

Servant. One from America to speak with Dr. 
Franklin. 

Franklin {to Mrs. Howe). You will hold me 
excused, Madam ? 


Mrs. Howe. But return! 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


27 


Franklin goes with Servant. 

Howe ( who has been studying edict). This is 
evidently a joke of Frederick of Prussia. 

Storemont. These Germans are insolent enough 
for anything. 

Sandwich. Evidently Franklin had already seen 
it. 


Mrs. Howe. You surprise me, sirs! For five 
intelligent and grown-up men ! Why, gentlemen- 

Sandwich. The devil! 

Howe. Do you mean-? 

Desmond. I’ll be hanged if ’tis not the stupid 
joke of some American. 

Howe ( smiling uncertainly). ’Tis a fair hit. 

Mrs. Howe laughs. The men all stare at her in 
amazement, then Desmond slaps his knee. 

Desmond. Pox me, Franklin! 

Sandwich. Franklin? The old hypocrite! The 
sly fox! 

Mrs. Howe. How he must have enjoyed your 
excitement, dear Lord Sandwich! 

Sandwich. Madam, I will not be laughed at by 
an American. England must not be laughed at. To 
think of the postmaster-general of America circu¬ 
lating such trash! 

Mrs. Howe. ’Twas you circulated it, my lord. 

Sandwich. Bah! Good day, Ma’am. (He goes 
to steps but turns to call back.) Tell him from me, 



28 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Howe, I’ll get him thrown out. He shall not handle 
our letters. I put no trust in him. 

Howe (following Sandwich and speaking ur¬ 
gently). My lord, think again. Tis only since 
Franklin has been postmaster-general, that England 
has received revenue from that service. 

Sandwich. Bah! Go to the devil! (He hastens 
out.) 

Howe joins Beaumarchais, as Franklin re¬ 
enters with Arthur Lee. 

Franklin. Madam, may I present Arthur Lee 
just arrived from America? 

Mrs. Howe. Not the Arthur Lee IVe heard of? 

Lee. There scarcely could be two. Ma’am. I 
am the only—er—well-known one of that name. 

Mrs. Howe, Indeed, sir, your reputation don’t 
belie you. 

Howe (joins group). How runs the feeling in 
America, Mr. Lee? 

Lee. High, my lord, high and bitter. 

Howe. Against England? 

Lee. No, sir, not against England! 

Howe (surprised). Eh? 

Lee. Against England’s governor—Hutchinson 
of Massachusetts. 

Exclamations. Hutchinson! What’s he done? 
Poor devil! 

Lee (excitedly). What has he not done? From 
his own letters sir, he is convicted. He has falsely 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


29 


All speak 
together . 


and secretly misrepresented the feeling in America. 
He is a scoundrel, sirs, a blackguard, sirs! 

Howe ( thoughtfully ). The governor stands for 
England. 

Franklin. Your pardon! the governor runs for 
England. 

Lee. From the mobs of Boston! 

Storemont. Gad, I’m glad of it.' 

Desmond. The devil take ’em! 

Guildford. How’s that? 

Howe. Fled to England! 

Lee. He’s in London now. 

Whately ( deliberately ). The rascals! 

Lee (to Whately). You show concern. You 
are perhaps, a friend of Hutchinson? 

Whately. My brother was his friend, sir. Bos¬ 
ton shall pay for this outrage. 

Franklin. Your pardon! Hutchinson shall pay. 
England must recall Governor Hutchinson. 

Whately. At the demand of Massachusetts ? 

Desmond. They dare not ask it. 

Lee. They do ask it. 

Howe. Dr. Franklin, tell us plainly. 

Franklin. As agent of the colony of Massa¬ 
chusetts, I am directed to petition his majesty for 
the recall of Governor Hutchinson. 



30 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Mrs. Howe. Then England has but to repudiate 
Hutchinson- 

Franklin. And all his deeds! 

Mrs. Howe. And the situation’s saved. 

Franklin. Already our people are calming, now 
that the truth is out, and they know Hutchinson was 
to blame for England’s harshness. 

Whately. But—England recede? 

Howe. England will never repudiate her gov¬ 
ernor. 

Mrs. Howe. But if her governor’s wrong? I 
know Thomas Hutchinson, and he’s a pig-headed 
fool, honest but pig-headed. 

Howe. Still—England will back him. She dare 
not recall him. 

Lee. What ? 

Whately. If England recall him at the demand 
of a pack of rebels, her honor is lost. 

Lee. If she do not, her colony is lost. 

Howe. She will not take dictation from a colony; 
that were to admit that she has failed. 

Whately. She has not failed. 

Lee. Her rule of us has been one constant 
failure. 

Franklin ( smiling ). Gentlemen, can you not 
persuade yourselves that neither of you is infallible ? 

Lee (sneeringly ). Who is infallible? Is Dr. 
Franklin? 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


31 


Franklin. As to mine own infallibility, I am too 
modest to claim it in general; but when we come 
down to particulars, I, like others, give it up with 
difficulty. I may have been wrong yesterday, may 
be so again tomorrow, but never, never, today. 

Mrs. Howe ( smiling ). Then let infallibility 
speak—today. 

Franklin. Gentlemen, Infallibility says, “If— 
you will not hear reason, then she will rap your 
knuckles.” 

Howe. So— if England back Hutchinson-? 

Franklin. I fear—war. 

Lee. Fear, sir? Hope! 

Franklin. In my opinion, there never was a 
good war waged—nor a bad peace concluded. 

Mrs. Howe. There spoke the friend of all man¬ 
kind. 

Lee. There spoke the friend of England, not 
America. 

Mrs. Howe. Blessed are the peacemakers. 

Franklin. Cursed are the peacemakers. 

Howe. Not Dr. Franklin! 

Franklin. At home I am reviled as friend to 
England; here I am despised as an American- 

Beaumarchais. Come to France, sir! France 
adores you. 

Mrs. Howe {sharply). No doubt France would 
like a finger in the American pie. 




32 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Howe. Dr. Franklin, go with me to America. You 
use your well-known influence for peace—do not 
mistake me—the king would provide you with ade¬ 
quate, nay generous compensation- 

Franklin. I trust I do mistake you. Such com¬ 
pensation would be considered a bribe to betray my 
country. 

Howe {reddening). Who mentioned bribes? 

Franklin. They were not mentioned, my lord. 
No one would have such great bad taste, my lord. 

(Howe subsides.) 

Mrs. Howe. You will not work for peace ? 

Franklin. ’Tis my profession, but without ade¬ 
quate—beg pardon, generous compensation. 

Howe. You will go with me to America? 

Franklin. The battle is here. 

Desmond. You fight England? 

Servant enters. 

Franklin. No, sir, I do not fight England; I 
fight the battle of England against- 

Servant {announces). His excellency, Thomas 
Hutchinson of Massachusetts! 

Storemont. Good gad! 

Hutchinson enters. Mrs. Howe advances to 
meet him. 

Mrs. Howe. Thomas Hutchinson, what’s this 
we hear of you? Setting his Majesty’s colonies by 
the ears! 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


33 


Hutchinson. I, Ma’am? I would crop their 
ears if I could, the rebellious knaves! But, your 
pardon, Ma’am, I have sought out Dr. Franklin- 

Mrs. Howe. Tea is served in the East Garden, 
gentlemen; let us leave these colonials to fight it out 
together. 

Desmond ( with a chuckle ). Damme if I like to 
leave you undefended, Doctor! Hutchinson’s breath¬ 
ing vengeance. 

Mrs. Howe {serenely). I’m sorry for Hutchin¬ 
son; he’s in the minority. 

All go out by smaller entrance but Franklin and 
Hutchinson. Several times during the following 
conversation Storemont passes through at back, 
from East Garden through and up steps, and back 
again, eagerly observant. Franklin remains station¬ 
ary throughout scene. Hutchinson paces to and 
fro. 

Hutchinson. Mr. Franklin, I have come to see 
if you take seriously the impudent demand of a pack 
of rebels? 

Franklin {smiling). They pay me my salary, 
your Excellency. 

Hutchinson. No, Mr. Franklin, they do not; I 
have given orders to stop its payment. 

Franklin. Ah! A stroke worthy of your Ex¬ 
cellency ! 

Hutchinson {pompously) . In itself the petition 
has no weight; presented by you, I do you the com¬ 
pliment to fear it. You have been here in London, 
worming yourself into popularity with the king, 
while I have been mobbed, sir, mobbed in the streets 
of Boston for carrying out his orders- 



34 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Franklin. Orders which you advised. 

Hutchinson. Advised? Yes, I did advise ’em, 
I advised that the people of Boston should be 
straight-jacketed. And who has a better right to 
advise His Majesty’s government, than His Majes¬ 
ty’s governor ? 

Franklin. And who has a better right to resent 
such advice than the people who suffer from it? 

Hutchinson. Damme! How’d the people of 
Boston know anything about it? 

Franklin. Who had a better right to know than 
the people of Boston? 

Hutchinson. Damn the people of Boston! 

Franklin. Not the people. 

Have you ever heard the tale of the devil who 
showed the traveler in Hades that portion of hell 
where the dead rulers of the earth groaned in tor¬ 
ment? No? Well, the traveler, having seen his 
fill, inquired, where were the rest of ’em? 

“The rest?” cried the devil. “Here you see all the 
kings, princes and governors who have ever ruled 
on earth, so many that they have squeezed the com¬ 
mon folk quite out of hell! What the devil would 
the man have?” 

Hutchinson ( impatiently ). Well? 

Franklin. Well-? 

Hutchinson. I’ll remain governor and—take my 
chances. 

Franklin (courteously }. Your Excellency 
should not then have fled your office. 

Hutchinson. Fled? Pshaw! I’ve come to fight 
for it. To fight you—and your petition. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


35 


Franklin. Your Excellency’s first play—cuts 
off my salary—a handicap, I confess. My play—I 
petition your dismissal. Your play-? 

Hutchinson. I protest your petition before the 
Privy Council. 

Franklin {startled) . The Privy Council? 

Hutchinson ( wtih honest satisfaction). The 
Privy Council! 

Franklin. Ah, your Excellency, if we play be¬ 
fore the Privy Council—the corruptest body of men 
in England, I fear- 

Hutchinson. You do well to fear, Mr. Franklin. 

Franklin. I fear I shall lose my king. Good- 
day, Mr. Hutchinson. 

Hutchinson goes. Storemont, who has been 
hovering about, enters quickly. 

Storemont. Damme, Doctor, who’d have 
thought the sending of those cursed letters would 
have caused such a rumpus ? 

Franklin {tranquilly) . I did, my lord. 

Storemont. The deuce you did! Does he know 
you sent ’em? 

Franklin. Not yet. 

Storemont. You mean- {Thoroughly dis¬ 

mayed.) you won’t tell? 

Franklin. My actions bear daylight. 

Storemont. But I’d be first man stung. 

Franklin. Not you, sir! Hutchinson first, 
then I! 




36 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Storemont. But damme, I don’t want to be 
stung at all. My position in France—ambassador, 
you know! The letters—I had a perfect right to 
show ’em to you—but it would work me the devil 
were it known. 

F ranklin. It shall not be known—through me. 

Storemont. Pox me, I’m grateful. 

Sally Franklin runs in, from East Garden. 

Sally Franklin. Oh Uncle, a monstrous dis¬ 
agreeable man, Mr. Whately, said such horrid things 
about Americans, and Mr. Lee defended us. Oh 
sir, is not Mr. Lee wonderful? 

Franklin. Um! 

Whately, Beaumarchais and Lee enter. 
Whately with tea and Beaumarchais with sugar. 

Whately. We’ve brought ye tea, Miss Franklin. 

Sally Franklin. I don’t drink tea; no American 
drinks tea. 

W hately ( teasingly ). Treason! 

Sally Franklin ( earnestly ). Patriotism. 

Whately. I dare swear Dr. Franklin drinks it. 

Sally Franklin ( turning to him). Do you? 

Franklin {smiling). Don’t tell. 

Whately. Must the Boston rebels have the 
monopoly of tea parties ? Greedy beggars! 

Franklin. There’s no tax upon this tea, my 
child, but a Thank-you. I think you need not 
scruple. 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


37 


Enter Howe, from East Garden. 

Howe. Dr. Franklin, Madam awaits you. 

Franklin (turning with alacrity). Ah, is Ma¬ 
dame Helvetius here? 

Howe. I meant my sister. She has a plan to 
move the king in your behalf. 

Franklin. Ah, sir, kings and bears worry their 
keepers! (He goes wtih Storemont and Howe.) 

Sally Franklin (to Whately). I’ll take the 
tea—and thank you vastly, sir. 

Beaumarchais. Hast heard the newest recipe 
for tea? 

“Lovely woman is the sugar-” (He passes 

sugar.) 

Lee (strolls over to table and Ungers chess men). 
A few hogsheads of tea—the best East India, emp¬ 
tied into the depths of Boston Bay, brews the best 
tea. 

Whately. Maybe—for rebels, sir. I trust it will 
prove bitter—— 

Lee. Rebels? The word hath charm. (They 
glower.) 

Beaumarchais. Center your attention on my 
recipe, Mademoiselle! 

“Lovely woman is the sugar; 

Men the spoons will always be; 

Matrimony is hot water; 

So we make a cup of tea” (A pause.) 
Mademoiselle, do you like the recipe? 

Sally Franklin. ’Twould depend upon the 
spoon. 



38 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Beaumarchais. Try me. ( She smiles shyly.) 

Whately. Miss Franklin, was the tea good ? 

Sally Franklin. I fear the Boston Tea Party 
has spoiled my taste, sir. 

Beaumarchais. Were you there? 

Sally Franklin {nods. All, amazed, draw 
nearer ). When the patriots dressed as Indian braves 
and dashed down to the wharf and upset the tea into 
the water, well, I dressed up as a boy—and I got 
quite near and I helped to push a chest in—I did 
indeed. 

Whately. Good gad! (He looks at her admir¬ 
ingly.) 

Sally Franklin. And we made a song about 
it—a very saucy song. 

Whately. Sing it, Mistress! 

Sally Franklin (shaking her head). It would 
not like you. 

Whately. You owe us something for that chest 
of tea. 


Sally ( nothing loath, half sings, half recites the 
song.) 


SONG. 


“There was on old lady lived over the sea, 
And she was an Island Queen; 

Her daughter lived off in a far countree, 
With an ocean of water between. 

The old lady’s pockets were filled with gold, 
But never contented was she; 

She called on her daughter to pay her a tax 
Of threepence a pound on her tea. 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


39 


The tea was conveyed to the daughter’s door 
All down by the ocean’s side; 

And the angry girl poured out every pound 
In the dark and boiling tide. 

And then she called to the Island Queen: 

‘Oh Mother, dear Mother/ quoth she, 

‘Your tea you may have when ’tis steeped 
enough, 

But never a tax from me!’ ” 

(Sally slowly pours the dregs of tea on ground.) 

Whately. Gad, Miss Franklin, sing that song 
in London, ye’ll be the toast of the town. 

Sally Franklin (defiantly). ’Twas monstrous 
fun. (Then she droops.) But my uncle—he dis¬ 
approves the whole affair. 

Whately. He would. Why, your uncle’s almost 
English, my dear. He’s vastly popular—for a colo¬ 
nial. 

Sally Franklin (with dancing eyes). Don’t you 
like us colonials in London? 

Whately. I like— you —but your colonials— 
good lord! 

Lee (stiffly). Good day, sir. (He walks off.) 

Sally Franklin. He really minds-! (She 

laughs .) 

Whately. So much the better! It’s more pri¬ 
vate now. How can we infuriate M. Beaumarchais ? 
(He looks at him smiling.) 

Beaumarchais. Monsieur, the more infuriated, 
the more I stand my ground. Privacy, Miss Frank¬ 
lin, is the delight of the English. Now the French 
feel no false shame in making a public declaration. 



40 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Miss Franklin, come over the water! When the time 
comes when “her union with England is no longer 
America’s pride,” we’ll get ye the French alliance. 

Whately. What d’you mean, sir, with your 
“French Alliance” ? 

Beaumarchais. I mean—I am the man. 

Whately. Ye talk in riddles. It’s my impres¬ 
sion ye’re damned spy, sir. 

Beaumarchais {airily). Man alive, I’m a poet. 
’Tis my business to bring hero and lady to mutual 
embraces. (Whately glowers.) 

Sally. Gentlemen! {Both turn to her.) Good- 
day ! {She courtesies.) I go to seek my uncle. 

Beaumarchais {offers arm). Permit me! 

Whately {offers arm). Permit me! Miss Frank¬ 
lin, have no trust in the declaration of these false, 
perfidious French; they seek their own advantage. 

Beaumarchais. Miss Franklin, do you trust the 
English declaration that they seek America’s wel¬ 
fare? 

Sally. Sirs, I shall trust in America’s declara¬ 
tion—of independence. {She bows, declining either 
arm.) 

Beaumarchais. Try it, Miss Franklin, but re¬ 
member, if you do not cross the water to France, I 
cross to America. {Bows and goes.) 

Whately {frowning). Damn coxcomb! What’s 
he after—trying to stir up trouble with our Amer¬ 
ican subjects——? 

Sally Franklin {quenchingly). Our subjects! 
Ours! 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


41 


Every person in England seems to jostle himself 
alongside of the king—, talks of “OUR subjects in 
the colonies.” 

Whately. I have a claim—on you, at least, Mis¬ 
tress. 

Sally Franklin. A claim? 

Whately. A claim for that chest of tea you 
pushed into the water. ( She turns to go.) Wait, 
Miss Franklin, lest I swear out a warrant- 

Sally Franklin (in dismay). You wouldn’t 
dare? 

Whately ( catching up with her). Pay me then 
—full measure. (He kisses her roughly.) 

Sally Franklin (horrified). Mr. Whately!! 

Franklin and others enter; she runs to Frank¬ 
lin. Servants follow with torches zvhich they set up 
in garden and then retire. 

Sally Franklin (half crying). Oh uncle, I’m 
aching to go back to Boston. I do not like this Eng¬ 
land and I despise all Englishmen. 

Mrs. Howe. My dear child, there are English¬ 
man and Englishmen. 

Sally Franklin (defiantly). Yes, Ma’am, and 
the only good Englishmen are Americans. 

They laugh good-naturedly. 

Howe. True! Dr. Franklin’s the best English¬ 
man of my acquaintance. 

Mrs. Howe. You tread the velvet path of uni¬ 
versal popularity. 



42 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Howe. Use that influence for peace. Do not pre¬ 
sent that petition. 

Franklin. My lord, that petition is become a test 
to try this land of England. 

Two Servants enter with torches. They stand, 
one on either side of entrance. 

Servant. Lord Hyde! His lordship, the Earl 
of Gower. 

These men enter. Mrs. Howe courtesies low. 

Howe ( claiming Franklin’s attention). If Eng¬ 
land fail then, in this single instance? If she fail 
once in wisdom and in justice-? 

Franklin.. If she fail once ! ! ! ! ! Your lord- 
ship is very witty! 

Servant (announces). Madame Helvetius! 

Madame Helvetius enters and courtesies low. 

Franklin ( advances quickly). Ah, Madame, res¬ 
cue me from the wits! (He offers his arm.) 

Madame Helvetius. O la, Monsieur! (Turns 
to others.) And him they call, “The great diplo¬ 
mat!” (She takes his arm: they pass quickly out.) 

The others stare, then follow as though drawn by 
magnet. 


curtain 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


43 


ACT II 

In the center of the room, hack under an enormous 
canopy of maroon velvet, embroidered with the 
Arms of England, stands the President's chair, on 
a dais. On each side is an embrasure, a kind of 
Gothic window opening on corridor. In front of 
the president's chair and extending to right is a long 
narrow table, around which chairs are placed for the 
Privy Councilors. 

Franklin’s position is at the right in front of a 
huge stone fireplace. Howe and Hyde sit near 
Franklin; Wedderburn, directly opposite. Sand¬ 
wich sits below the President. Guildford, Des¬ 
mond and the other lords are seated with them. 

Two small doors lead, on the right to the Presi¬ 
dent's chamber, on the left to corridor. 

Hutchinson, Sandwich and Wedderburn, 
are conferring, as curtain rises. 

Wedderburn. You’re up against it, your Ex¬ 
cellency ! I’ll do my best, but, gad! England can’t 
prop up a man of straw- 

Hutchinson ( furiously ). Sir! ! ! 

Wedderburn. A man who cuts and runs must 

make out a strong case- (Raises his hand to 

stay Hutchinson’s explosion .) I know, I know 
the king backs you—secretly, but Franklin faces 
you—openly; and your chances are not worth that 
(Snaps his Ungers.) against him. 

Hutchinson ( sidkily ). He has you people well 
at heel; now in Boston he is looked down on. 


Sandwich. How’s that ? 




44 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Hutchinson. They think he’s too English. 

Wedderburn. Ah! That won’t discredit him 
here, y’know. Has he no weak spot? Does he 
crave money ? Office ? 

Sandwich. Accuse him of wishing to stand for 
governor. 

Hutchinson. He’s not such a fool. But, damme 
sir, I stand for England and the king. 

Sandwich ( sneeringly ). Planted on all four 
feet. 

Hutchinson. Eh? 

Sandwich. Like Balaam’s ass! You fool, how’d 
you ever let the rebels find out about the letters you 
writ Whately? 

Hutchinson. Someone whose interest it was to 
stir up strife sent the letters back to Boston. 

W EDDERBURN. Who ? 

Hutchinson. Who but the brother—damn him! 

Wedderburn. As I understand—the petition is 
based on them? (Hutchinson nods .) How if 
you declared ’em forged ? 

Hutchinson. Damme, they’re not forged! In 
my own handwriting! And I’ll uphold ’em in the 
teeth of the thirteen colonies—and be damned to 
’em! 

Sandwich. Pox me! A pretty outlook! 

Hutchinson ( anxiously ). But sir, those letters 
were private. As men of honor, the Privy Council 
can’t remove me from office for writing private 
letters, eh, Wedderburn? 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


45 


Wedderburn. Sir, most of the Privy Council 
have lost heavily by this Boston tea affair, which 
you should have prevented- 

Hutchinson. Sir, I- 

Wedderburn. Yes, yes, you couldn’t—but you 
should have; so through your negligence their pock¬ 
et-books have been emptied—and you ask me to 
work upon their sentimental scruples—their punc¬ 
tiliousness as to private letters! You jest, Mr. 
Hutchinson. 

Hutchinson ( stares, then with brightening face). 
Oh good gad, I have more substantial reasons; I am 
well supplied with guineas by the king. 

Wedderburn ( also brightens) . Ah! Come to my 
chambers, sir; we’ll arrange everything. (He stands 
aside that Hutchinson may pass out, right, then 
he turns to Sandwich.) Your idea was good, 
m’lord, that Franklin would oust Hutchinson as gov¬ 
ernor; work it up. (Sandwich nods; Wedder¬ 
burn follows Hutchinson.) 

Enter Desmond and Guildford, from corridor. 

Sandwich. Egad, man, what stung ye ? 

Guildford. Howe’s been at me. Morning, Bevil! 

Dashwood enters. 

Desmond. Do my eyes deceive me? Up and 
dressed at eleven! You were going it good and 
hard at three when I left you. 

Dashwood. Made night of it! Thish mornin’ 
had to get here—promished Howe. When does the 
show come off? 

Guildford. We were summoned for eleven. 




46 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Dash wood (Sitting down and speaking appeal- 
ingly ). Some’dy tell me, who’s thish Hutchinson? 
Wha’sh he done? 

Desmond. Egad, man, where’ve you been? 

Sandwich. In his cups. 

Dashwood. No shur! Not in m’ right mind ever 
at eleven! 

Desmond. Everyone’s heard of runaway Gov¬ 
ernor Hutch- 

Dashwood. I haven’t—or ’t pashed out ’tother 
ear. Whoishhe? 

Guildford. American. 

Dashwood ( pathetically ). North or South Amer¬ 
ican? 

Desmond. Wake up, you fool; you’re drunk. 

Guildford. He’s from the colonies. 

Dashwood. Why didn’ he shtay there—an’ not 
bother us? 

Guildford. Well, y’see, Boston or Massachu¬ 
setts— 

Dashwood. Beastly names! I never can re¬ 
member—is Bohston in Mass-a'-chusetts, or Mass¬ 
achusetts in Boston? 

Sandwich. Lord, who cares? Some place or 
other over there has raised a row to kick out Hutch¬ 
inson and put Franklin in. 

Dashwood {brightens ). Why I know Franklin, 
tie’s my frien’; he sings a damn good song. Halloa 
there, m’lor’ North! 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


4 7 


North and Storemont enter. 

North. Gentlemen, where are the others? 

Guildford. At the races! 

North ( with irritation). Bah! Sirs, ye all know 
the king's desire as to Dr. Franklin? 

Dashwood. No, I don’t. Thish Franklin—ish he 
here on trial? 

Guildford. No, no, man! 

Dashwood ( complacently ). No, no, it’s Hutch 
—runaway Governor Hutch; Franklin’s all righ’. 

North. Gentlemen, it is worth much to the king 
that Hutchinson be sustained and Franklin dismissed. 

Dashwood. How much ? 

Howe enters. 

Dashwood ( advancing toward him). Ah, sir, be¬ 
hold my virtue; I am here. 

Howe. Gentlemen, I appeal to you who know 
Dr. Franklin; the petition he presents on behalf of 
Massachusetts—— 

Dashwood {correcting). Mass-a'-chusetts. 

Howe {stiffly). Massachusetts, I beg of you to 
consider without prejudice. 

Guildford. Egad, I’m not prejudiced; I’m open 
to conviction, eh, Desmond? 

Sandwich. Bah! Franklin would oust Hutchin¬ 
son and be governor himself. 

Howe {gravely). Your lordship is not serious. 



48 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


(Turns to others.) Gentlemen, you are English; you 
will see fair play ? 

Dashwood. I shay “fair play!” Franklin’s a 
good fellow—damn good! 

Sandwich. What does the fellow want but to 
be tried by’s peers! 

Howe. Who here is peer to Dr. Franklin? 

Dashwood. Didn’ ye know m’ first Lord of 
Sandwich rechieved a peerage for th’ invention of 
peerless sandwiches? Ha, ha! Eh, Sandwich? 

Sandwich. A stale jest! {He takes Dashwood 
aside. Dashwood plays the incorruptible but ends 
by pocketing the bribe. The others break up into 
small groups.) 

Storemont {to North). My lord, when do I 
get my instructions for Paris? 

North. Look you, sir, in the event of a rebellion, 
France may seek to aid the rebels- 

Storemont. Do you really mean you fear revolt 
in th’ colonies ? 

North. Fear? No! There are fat lands in 
America. 

Mrs. Howe enters with Sally Franklin and 
Beaumarchais. 

Dashwood {ogling them). Ladies! O I shay! 
Ladies at a meetin’ of the council? Petticoats better 
shtay away. 

Mrs. Howe {ingratiatingly). My lord—sure your 
lordship would not be so monstrous uncivil; you 
have a reputation to sustain. Child, this is Lord 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


49 


Dashwood, the naughtiest man in London. Ben 
Franklin’s niece, my lord! 

Dashwood ( eyeing her). Ye gods! ( Makes a 
motion to his pocket and calls over his shoulder to 
Sandwich.) Sandwich, take back your dirty bribe; 
I stand by Franklin. Get chairs, Howe, and be 
damned to you! 

Howe (coming to them). This is most irregular. 
{He draws Mrs. Howe aside to back.) 

Dashwood. Miss Franklin, we’ll have to give 
the Doctor all he wantsh. 

Sally Franklin {courtesying). I thank you. 
Oh- 

Whately enters from President’s chamber; she 
shrinks away. 

Whately. Gentlemen, Earl Gower would speak 
with ye. 

Dashwood. Spoil sport! It’s a ruse. Miss 
Franklin, be Franklin’s attorney, ma’am, and he’ll 
win, sure. {He bows low.) 

All pass out but Mrs. Howe, Sally Franklin, 
Whately and Beaumarchais. Howe leads Mrs. 
Howe to seat at one of the spectator’s windows at 
back before he goes. 

Whately {to Sally Franklin). Ma’am, I 
trust you were not—er—offended by my—er—decla¬ 
ration the other day? 

Sally Franklin {looking about for Mrs. 
Howe). Sir? 

Whately. It surprised myself, begad! I’m not 
an admirer of things American—in general. 



50 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Beaumarchais. Do you admire—say—Prussia ? 

Whately ( regarding him insolently ). An up¬ 
start state, sir! 

Beaumarchais. Tuscany? Spain? 

Whately. Decadent! 

Beaumarchais. My own fair land? Yet, sir, 
you should admire America, at least; America is 
English. 

Sally Franklin (hastily). She’s not; she’s In¬ 
dian ! 

Beaumarchais. I should say— Americans are 
English. 

Sally Franklin (stamping her foot). Never! 
(She moves toward Mrs. Howe.) 

Whately (following) . Oh, I say, Miss Franklin! 
Don’t be so cruel, my dear! But then, ye Franklins 
—ye are all heart-breakers. (She joins Mrs. Howe 
and sits.) 

Mrs. Howe. There they come! Get up, my 
dear! (She rises.) 

Sally Franklin (rising reluctantly). They do 
look monstrous fine; but I do hate to rise for any 
man. 

The members of the Privy Council enter, Gower, 
North, Sandwich, Storemont, Howe, Hyde, 
Desmond, Guildford, Dashwood and others; 
they are followed by Wedderburn and Hutch¬ 
inson. 

Gower (taking president’s chair, calls room to 
order). Gentlemen, this meeting of the Privy Coun- 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


51 


cil has been called by His Majesty to listen to a 
petition from our subjects in America. Bid Dr. 
Franklin enter. 

Franklin enters with Lee from right and takes 
his stand. He is dressed in the suit of Manchester 
velvet which he zvears in Acts IV and V. Several 
rise and how as he enters. 

Gower. Sir, who are you? 

Franklin. Benjamin Franklin 

Gower. State your mission. 

Franklin. My lords, I pray you to give my 
petition honorable hearing. The clamour of multi¬ 
tudes; it is good to attend to it. It is wiser to 
foresee and avoid it. It is wise, when neither fore¬ 
seen nor avoided to correct the measures that gave 
occasion to it. I am glad you have that wisdom. 
{He presents petition.) 

Dashwood {sotto voce). Have we? 

Gower. Are you ready, gentlemen, to hear the 
“clamour of multitudes?” 

Sandwich. Aye, get it over- 

Gower (lifts petition and reads). “To the King’s 
most Excellent Majesty: Most gracious sovereign, 
we your Majesty’s loyal subjects-” 

Sandwich. A libel! Seek out Dr. Johnson and 
find what “loyal” means. 

Hutchinson. Damning the king! Refusing to 
pay taxes! 

North. In his eyes “traitor” spells “American.” 

Dashwood. Then he’s a damn poor speller 


52 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Hyde {quietly). Gentlemen, fair play! 


Gower {reads on through remarks which follow. 
The parts of the petition which he reads are en¬ 
tirely drowned at times by the clamour). “We, your 
Majesty’s loyal subjects, beg leave to lay this humble 
petition before your Majesty. Nothing but the sense 
of duty we owe our sovereign-” 


Sandwich. Lord, if they’d only coin their sense 
of duty into pounds and pence! I lost a cool two 
thousand by their cursed tea-party. 


Guildford. I too! 

Desmond. I lost a hundred. ► 
Dashwood. Who’s to pay? - 


They speatz 
together. 


Gower {continues) . “- could induce us <co 

remonstrate to your Majesty the mal-conduct of 

persons-” {Looks up.) This is tedious. I’ll 

curtail’t a trifle. {Reads.) “-grievances we 

have suffered-occasioned by your Majesty’s 

ministers being misinformed”-There’s one for 

you, North! “-we humbly conceive there has 

been a conspiracy of evil men-” That’s Hutch¬ 
inson! “-Therefore we humbly pray-” 

Sandwich. Great insolence! 

Gower. “-your Majesty would be pleased to 

remove said Thomas Hutchinson who has by his 
afore-mentioned conduct rendered himself justly 
obnoxious to your loving subjects, and in his place 
send-” 

Sandwich {explosively). Benjamin Franklin! 

Gower. “-send one more pleasing to the 

humble folk of Massachusetts Bay.” 











BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


53 


Hutchinson. A petition? A demand! 

Gower. What’s England coming to when colo¬ 
nists dare scrawl such petitions? 

Hyde. Rather, what is her fate if she will not 
give fair hearing? 

Gower. Fair hearing? I’ve read the gist; any¬ 
one may read the rest who’s a mind to? (He tosses 
petition on table.) 

Howe, Hyde, Storemont, bend over it. Des¬ 
mond picks up hat and makes for door; Sandwich 
follows and detains him. 

Desmond. I’ve got a horse races today; damme 
I must be off. 

Sandwich. Stay awhile; there’s good sport com¬ 
ing. ( They return.) 

Gower. Mr. Franklin, we’ll hear you. 

Franklin. Gentlemen, as my country’s agent— 

I- 


Gower. There I must set you right, Mr. Frank¬ 
lin ; you are not agent. 

Franklin. I do not understand your lordship. 
I have the appointment in my pocket. 

Gower. You are not agent; Governor Hutchin¬ 
son did not consent to your appointment. Is it 
not so, Mr. Hutchinson? 

Hutchinson. I have never sanctioned the ap¬ 
pointment of any agent. Damned meddlers ! 

Franklin. The agent is appointed by the people ; 
the sanction of the governor is not needed. 



54 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Hutchinson (growing purple). Not needed! 

Gower (coldly). I shall not dispute with you, 
Mr. Franklin. Though we do not recognize you 
as agent, still we’ll hear you. 

Franklin. Gentlemen, I as the—mouthpiece (if 
the honorable court permit the word) of my country¬ 
men, have this one merit, common to all old men— 
I long for peace. 

North (hastily). Peace with conditions. 

Franklin. Yes, one condition: The rights of 
Englishmen. My lords, Americans are England’s 
sons, and not her bastards. 

Gower. Bah! We will talk of what you call 
your rights when you have paid for every pound 
of tea lost at your cursed riots. 

Franklin. And if we did so? 

North. Can you make that offer? 

Franklin (to Sandwich). You lost two thou¬ 
sand pounds; (To Guildford.) you several hundred. 
And others also? 

Dashwood. I lost a bet. (Mournfully.) 

Franklin. Give us our rights; grant this peti¬ 
tion ; I pledge my private fortune you shall be repaid 
for every pound of tea. 

Dashwood (springing to his feet). Hurray for 
Franklin! 

Desmond. Hear! Hear! That’s the talk. (All 
talk simultaneously.) 

Guildford. An honest colonial! Good lord, 
what’re we coming to ? 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 55 

Storemont. Give him his rights; he’s earned ’em. 

North ( trying to subdue the noise). You are too 
late; the king will see to it the rebels pay. 

Franklin. Gentlemen, on you today rests not 
the fate of Massachusetts only, but the future of 
England. If you deny justice to the colony, it will 
recoil most horribly against you. 

North. Is that a threat, Mr. Franklin? 

Franklin. My lord, I offered first to pay for 
the tea—a bribe—but according to custom here. 

Gower. You are insolent; do you insinuate Eng¬ 
lishmen take bribes? 

Franklin {bowing). Your lordship does not 
mistake me; but those here present sure are in¬ 
corruptible. 

Dashwood. Damme, I’m not! Mr. Franklin, I 
accept your offer as to the tea. 

Guildford. I too! 

Desmond. Good lord, yes. 

Gower. Gentlemen! Gentlemen! 

Dashwood {gets up and bows formally). My 
lords, I move we recall Hutchinson—he’s here any¬ 
how—and send Mr. Franklin to collect our taxes. 

Laughter and cries of Hear! Hear! 

Franklin. My lords, a better man might have 
been chosen—to speak- 

Dashwood {cries). No, no! You’re the man! 

Franklin. But no man could have been chosen 



56 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


who loves both countries with a greater love. ( Cry 
of Bravo!) I—the colonies—love England; but 
gentlemen, the good-will of the governed will starve 
unless fed on the good deeds of the governors. 
Thomas Hutchinson misrepresents America to Eng¬ 
land and England to America. I petition his re¬ 
moval. 

Storemont. I move we grant his petition! 

Desmond. -an’ go to dinner! 

Dashwood. ’Ray for Franklin! ( Several rise.) 

Gower. My lords, one moment! Mr. Hutchin¬ 
son, will you speak in your defence? ( Those who 
had risen, subside with boredom.) 

Hutchinson. Defence? Damme, sirs, of what 
am I accused? Of loyalty, loyalty to the king! He 
dubbed me governor of Massachusetts. Did that 
mean m’lords, to rule for the colony or for the 
king? I thought the king! Was I right, 'm’lords, 
or wrong? 

Gower. There can be no question. 

Dashwood (sotto voce). I’ll bet my bottom 
sixpence ’twas for himself he ruled! 

Laughter. Gower pounds for order. 

Gower. Gentlemen, gentlemen, Mr. Wedder- 
burn, the counsel for the crown! 

Wedderburn {advances slowly) . Mr. President 
—your honorable lordships! Mr. Franklin has—er 
—wandered from the point—a common practice 
when the case is weak. He accuses—but what proof 
does he offer as to these accusations ? Mr. Hutchin¬ 
son does not, I think, plead guilty. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


57 


Franklin. They are based on Mr. Hutchinson’s 
own letters, sir. 

Wedderburn (with polite surprise). Letters? 
What letters ? 

Hutchinson {staring). Why, damme, sir, the 
letters we were discussing an hour ag- 

Wedderburn turns on him frowningly. 

Gower {crashing down gavel). Silence, sir! 
(Hutchinson collapses.) 

Franklin {smiling slightly). The letters Mr. 
Hutchinson writ to Mr. Thomas Whately. 

Wedderburn. This petition was based on them ? 
(Franklin bows.) I do not understand quite 
clearly yet? A petition to dismiss a loyal servant of 
the crown is based on certain letters—why, these 
letters may be forged! 

Franklin. Does Mr. Hutchinson declare them 
false, sir? 

Gower. Mr. Hutchinson, you hear Mr. Frank¬ 
lin’s question? 

Hutchinson. No, sir, they were not false, but 
they were private, sir! Sacredly private! 

Wedderburn. Private, your Excellency? Then 
how-? 

Hutchinson. My friendship was betrayed; my 
private letters were sent back to Boston, and pub¬ 
lished. {He turns direct on Whately.) There 
stands the man who betrayed his brother’s friend¬ 
ship—Mr. Will Whately! 

Whately {greatly surprised and indignant). My 




58 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

lords, Governor Hutchinson lies. I never saw those 
letters- 

Hutchinson. Ye’re a thief and a scoundrel! 

Whately. You shall answer for this- 

Hutchinson. Name the day! 

Gower pounds for order. 

Franklin. Gentlemen, this is folly. (All turn 
to him.) I sent the letters to America. 

Whately. You t 

Franklin. I! 

Whately. How came you by ’em? 

Franklin. Sir, I came by them honourably, 
from one who prefers to remain—unknown. 

Gower. SJmall wonder! 

North. Dr. Franklin, your silence speaks most 
damnably against you. 

Wedderburn. The truth at last! Sirs, I accuse 
him openly—this Franklin! He stole the letters, 
sent ’em to America. And for what purpose does 
he stoop to such an ignoble deed? Why does Frank¬ 
lin, the man of science, the philosopher—purloin 
letters ? Why, he too has an itching palm and craves 
—what but the governorship of Massachusetts. (A 
hiss.) I hope you will brand the man for the honour 
of this country and of mankind. Into what com¬ 
panies can he hereafter go with unembarrassed 
face? 

Sandwich. Hear! Hear! 

Wedderburn. Men will now watch him with a 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


59 


jealous eye; they will hide their papers from him and 
lock up their escritoires. He will esteem it libel 
to be called a “man of letters.” 

Desmond. Hit! A hit! 

Wedderburn. And he—the postmaster-general 
to the colonies! 

Sandwich. Not from today! Our letters are 
no longer safe in his keeping. 

Hyde ( indignantly ). Gentlemen, are we trying 
Dr. Franklin, or Governor Hutchinson? Those let¬ 
ters, sirs, were writ on public affairs, by Thomas 
Hutchinson, a public officer, to Thomas Whately, a 
public official, their intent to produce disastrous pub¬ 
lic measures. I hold those letters public in their 
nature. 

Gower. Pshaw! 

Franklin. Gentlemen, my wish in sending those 
letters was to let the people know—the people’s 
business. Secrecy—closed doors and the like, never 
begot an honest child. 

Howe {warmly). Truth seeks light. Will you 
quarrel with the man who throws open the shutters ? 
The public should know the public’s business. 

Guildford. Damme, Howe, you don’t hold with 
the public being let in on all of our proceedings? 

Cries of No! No! 

Dashwood. Damn the public ! 

Desmond. Wash your dirty linen in private! 

Hyde. Gentlemen, if one man, Hutchinson, can 
plunge America into chaos through secret repre- 


60 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


sentations, who can say the time shall not come 
when a few men, closeted from the world, responsi¬ 
ble to none, shall secretly and violently plunge Eng¬ 
land to disaster? 

Gower. And this to the Privy Council! Gen¬ 
tlemen, if these sentiments rule the day, the Privy 
Council may disband. If the public is to be let in, 
if Tom and Dick are to censure our proceedings, 
where is England’s glory ? The fellow on ,the 
street whose voice is loudest, he will prevail. We 
will be ruled by the grooms in our stables. No, 
gentlemen, privacy is as necessary in public as in 
private- 

Hutchinson. Gentlemen, if you dismiss me, if 
you humiliate me for fear of the people —a future 
governor will serve— whom? Put yourself the ques¬ 
tion, m’lords! Your colonial revenues will go to 
swell the coffers of—the colony! And where will 
be your snug returns? 

Guildford (in an awed voice). The question in 
a nutshell! 

D ashwood (uncomfortably). Gad! He’s right! 

Sandwich ( jumping up). I move Dr. Franklin’s 
petition be rejected with contempt such as to brand 
the man—the bitterest, most rebellious of our sub¬ 
jects ! 

Franklin. Will you hear me, lords? (Hisses.) 
1 am not here on trial; I shall not seek to justify 
myself to this council. Forget me! I plead not 
for myself—but for my country- 

Sandwich. To Newgate, thief! 

Gower. Bah, you are a traitor! 

Franklin. Traitor, my lord, to England? 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


61 


Hutchinson. And a rebel! (Hisses.) 

Franklin. Will you deny my right, lords, to a 
hearing —(Louder hisses )—the right of every Eng¬ 
lishman— 

Sandwich. You’re not English! You’re nothing 
but a damned American! 

North. Americans have no rights; they lost 
their rights when they became Americans. 

Franklin. No rights? Why that, my lord, is a 
signal for- 

North. Rebellion? 

Franklin. No, sir, revolution! (He draws him¬ 
self very erect.) 

All the men present not standing, spring noisily 
to their feet, pushing their chairs hastily hack. 

Franklin. Gentlemen, my country is answered. 

CURTAIN 


ACT III 

Two years of irritation have succeeded the scene 
in the cock-pit. America has stated her Declaration 
of Independence, hut has not proved it. In fact, 
were her main contention granted, she might even 
yet renounce it. 

Sensing this, England sends Howe, armed with 
words, to talk brotherly love and reconciliation to 
America’s commissioners, deputed to meet him. 

The meeting-place, a room taken by Franklin 
in a house on Staten Island, has large folding doors 




62 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


at the back, hanked by Dutch portraits. Several 
stiff chairs stand about the walls. On the right is a 
large hreplace with candles and hour-glass on shelf. 

Franklin is seated in a chair by the hre, reading 
letters; at his elbow is a Declaration of Inde¬ 
pendence, rolled. 

At his feet, on a cushion, Miss Franklin sits, 
knitting. 

Sally Franklin (looks up, yawns, pulls the 
“Declaration” from the table and studies it). Uncle, 
d’you know why Congress did not ask you to pen 
the Declaration of Independence? 

Franklin. Because Mr. Jefferson could better 
me. 

Sally Franklin. No! (She shakes her head.) 
They were afraid you’d put a joke in it. 

Franklin ( slightly nettled). Everything’s the 
better for a joke . . . even a declaration. 

Sally Franklin (demurely). Is that the way 
you win the ladies, sir? (He pinches her ear and 
resumes work.) Uncle, are you going to believe 
what Lord Howe says? 

Franklin. He’s come three thousand miles 
across the water to say it. 

Sally Frnklin. Attend to me: Is there the 
faintest—remotest—tiniest—ghost of a chance that 
he can persuade you to—back-water ? 

Franklin (teasingly). Think of the honour I 
should win in England! 

Sally Franklin. And a suit of tar-and- 
feathers in America! 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


63 


Franklin. You think so? 

Sally Franklin. I know so. United we stand. 

Franklin. To tar-and-feather, my child, is not 
the practice of the best society. 

Sally Franklin. Uncle—I’m in earnest 

Franklin. Then knit, my child. 

Sally Franklin {pouting). Oh, woman’s prov¬ 
ince ! 

Franklin. '‘Because of a nail, the shoe was lost; 

Because of the shoe the horse was 
lost; 

Because of the horse the message 
was lost; 

Because of the message the kingdom 
was lost.” 

Sally Franklin {knitting vigorously) . My nail 
shall be done by night. No one shall accuse me 
of dallying. 

Franklin. You mean—they accuse met (Sally 
nods her head vigorously.) My dear child, to serve 
the public faithfully, and at the same time to please 
it entirely—is impracticable. 

Sally Franklin {clicking her needles). After 
the way they flouted you. . . . 

Franklin. That was mere personal abuse, my 
dear. 

Sally Franklin. No, sir! Those brickbats 
were hurled straight at the thirteen colonies and you 
—were innocent by-stander. 

Franklin. Well—the thirteen colonies have an¬ 
swered. 


64 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Sally Franklin. Oh, I know! ( She gets to 
her feet and declaims.) “When, in the course of 

human events it becomes necessary-” Every 

school-child in America knows it, but—uncle, will 
our grandchildren learn it? 

Franklin {smiling). Who’s the man? 

Sally Franklin {leaning over the back of his 
chair). Let’s go to Paris, and win France to help us! 

A knock at the door. 

Franklin. Go, child, admit my fellow-commis¬ 
sioners. 

Sally opens door, courtesies to Adams and Rut¬ 
ledge who enter, and herself vanishes. 

Franklin. Mr. Adams! Mr. Rutledge! 

Adams. Good-day, Dr. Franklin! 

Rutledge. Good-day, sir! Have you heard yet 
from Howe? 

Franklin. His ship’s at anchor; he’s due here 
at eleven. 

They draw up chairs. 

Rutledge. D’you think, sir, he has power to do 
anything but talk ? 

Adams. His credentials to Congress spoke of 
power to compromise with advantage to England 
and the United Colonies. 

Rutledge {correcting) . United States, sir! 

Adams {stiffly). I quote his letter. 

Rutledge. United States! How little we 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


65 


dreamed—Dr. Franklin, is it more than a dream— 
(Takes up Declaration.) —spite of these—hot from 
the press? (He holds it up against mantel mis¬ 
chievously.) Damme, doctor, let’s pin it up to 
welcome Howe—just for the joke! 

Adams (annoyed). It’s no mere flimsy piece of 
bravado, sir! 

Rutledge (disappointed). Oh, very well! (He 
brings it back.) 

Franklin. We need the Declaration for back¬ 
bone—not for display. 

Adams (flaring up). What d’you mean, sir? 
D’you mean America don’t stand bravely and stiffly 
against England’s domination? 

Franklin. I mean—we need arms, powder, ships, 
gold, discipline. I mean (Tapping papers on desk.) 
I have here the answer of our agent in Holland. 
He writes that every nation of Europe wishes us 
well- 

Rutledge. Good! Good! 

Franklin (dryly). And declines to help us. 

A pause. 

Franklin. Save—France. 

Rutledge. And France? 

Franklin. France has not answered—as yet. 

Adams (bursting out). Good God, sir, I be¬ 
lieve even at this eleventh hour you’d crawl on 
your knees to England. 

Franklin (quietly). Not to England! 

Rutledge rises and reverses hour glass. 



66 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Franklin. The eleventh hour—and here comes 
Howe! 

Rutledge {soberly). The twelfth hour will 
decide. 

Howe is admitted. Franklin shows great cor¬ 
diality; Adams and Rutledge exchange glances. 

Franklin. It gives me the greatest pleasure to 
meet again with your lordship. May I present Mr. 
Adams—Mr. Rutledge of the Continental Con¬ 
gress ! 

Howe {bowing). Dr. Franklin! Gentlemen! 
Pray heaven you come in a disposition to meet me 
in fair compromise! England will go a long way 
toward you though she cannot recognize you as 
members of a rebel congress. 

Adams {hotly). Then- 

Franklin {tranquilly). Call us what you please, 
my lord, and we will consider ourselves as we 
please. 

Howe. Dr. Franklin, your temper has ever been 
pacific. 

Rutledge {under his breath). Dammed pacific! 

Howe. You will join me in urging these gen¬ 
tlemen to listen to overtures of peace? 

Franklin. To listen? Gladly! Be seated, gen¬ 
tlemen! Let’s strike the chords of agreement. 

Rutledge brings chair for Howe. 

Howe. I bear with me assurances of a greatly 
improved disposition in England toward the colo¬ 
nies— 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


67 


Adams ( leaning forward). One moment, my 
lord! Does that mean the British troops will be 
removed from American soil ? 

Howe. Hardly, sir, while the rebels are arm¬ 
ing— 

Adams. Ah! ( He leans back, folding his arms.) 

Howe ( slightly annoyed). But the king is dis¬ 
posed to look favourably toward you and to 
grant- 

Rutledge. To grant us the right to tax our¬ 
selves ? 

Howe. Mr. Rutledge, the king could not give 
you that right; that is a question for Parliament. 

Rutledge. I see. ( He leans back folding his 
arms.) 

Howe. But no doubt the offending acts would 
be revised if you lay down your arms. 

Rutledge {courteously). Very interesting; pray 
continue! 

Howe ( irritatea, turns to Franklin and Adams). 

There is a very sincere desire- 

Adams. You mean, my lord, if we deliver our¬ 
selves bound and gagged, ready for hanging, Eng¬ 
land will, perchance, not hang us, may even pat us 
on the back, but will give no security on the subject? 

Howe {stiffly). I can conceive no security for 
America better than that which depends on the wis¬ 
dom of a British Parliament. 

Rutledge. I can—that which depends on the 
interest of an American Congress. 




68 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Adams {quotes). “When in the course of human 
events it becomes necessary for one nation-” 

Howe {impatiently.) Yes, yes! I’ve heard that, 
my good sir! {Pause.) That Declaration of In¬ 
dependence is an awkward obstacle; is there no 
way of treating back of that step of independence? 

Adams. If you can re-build the cities you have 
burnt! If you can bring to life the Americans you 
have slain! 

Howe. Let us be sane! You would really dare 
be independent—a prey to France? 

Rutledge. Our liberties are not threatened by 
France, my lord. 

Howe. The king will yield much to prevent 
American trade from passing into French chan¬ 
nels; but if yielding will not serve—we will fight 
to prevent it. 

Franklin. My lord, it seems to me no trade 
howsoever valuable is an object for which men 
may shed blood; the true means of securing com¬ 
merce is the goodness and cheapness of commodi¬ 
ties. And the profits of no trade can equal the ex¬ 
pense of compelling it by fleets and armies. 

Howe. Ah, Dr. Franklin, there spoke—pardon 
me—Quaker cant. Good Lord, sir, did you think 
that England would lose America without fighting 
for her? 

Franklin. Did you think America would lose 
her liberty without fighting for it? 

Howe {dismayed). Dr. Franklin, do you join 
with these, your countrymen, in their madness? 
You have nor arms nor army, nor powder nor gold 
to purchase it. Will you not yield? 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


69 


Franklin. Our claim to independence? 

Howe. Yes. 

Adams (sneeringly ). Oh, Dr. Franklin is of a 
yielding disposition. No doubt he even yet would 
crawl to England. 

Franklin (with a fleeting glance at Adams). 
Not to England! 

Howe. There can be no question of crawling. 
Return boldly; render your allegiance; I can guar¬ 
antee you such a reception-! Dr. Franklin, 

the king empowers me to offer free pardon for 
every offence. 

Franklin (murmurs). Generous! He will par- 
done my every offence-? Go on, sir! 

Howe (warmly). More! He will liberally re¬ 
ward with high preferment those who shall assist 
in returning the colonies to their allegiance. 

Franklin (rising). Are these your creden¬ 
tials— 

Rutledge (to Howe). Sir, you are mad! ! ! 

Franklin. Take your answer, sir! Yield— 
because we have nor arms nor armies, nor gold 
nor power to purchase? Sir, we will use paper 
for gold as long as it pays the printer: for army 
—we have George Washington—and for arms and 
powder, it may well be I shall crawl in the very 
dust—but not to England! 

Rutledge. Bravo! (He and Adams instinctively 
take their stand alongside of Franklin.) 

Howe. I am sorry. I presume that means you 
will seek to give us employment in Europe? 





70 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Franklin. Your lordship does not mistake me. 

Howe turns to go; Franklin follows holding 
out his hand. 

Franklin. Lord Howe, the reward of peace¬ 
makers is always—tomorrow. 

Howe clasps hands and goes. 

Rutledge (excitedly) . Dr. Franklin, for pure 
unadulterated cheek, I make you my best bow. 

Adams. What did you mean by giving him “em¬ 
ployment in Europe?” What country of Europe 
would dare defy England? 

Rutledge. Every country has refused. 

Franklin. Save France! 

Adams. And France-? 

Franklin. Shall not refuse! 

Adams. Big words, but we have sent many 
agents abroad; they have all come back with a flea 
in the ear. 

Franklin. If you want a thing done, go: if 
not, send! 

Adams. WHAT? I? I go? I fear my duties 
in America would prevent. 

Franklin (dryly). Perhaps I could be spared. 
Look you, sirs, we are a litttle people, England a 
world power; but we have no enemies, she no 
friends. We must win gold and most important 
of all—recognition. 

Adams. Chut! France’s recognition, though of 
value, is a side issue. The battle must be fought 
here. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


71 


Franklin. We fight two battles, one at home, 
and one abroad and at the court of France. If we 
win France, we conquer. 

Rutledge. But if France prove unfriendly? 

Franklin. We’ll to Spain! If Spain prove 
adverse, Prussia may be kind—but we will win. 

Sally Franklin pokes her head in. She is 
flushed and excited. 

Sally Franklin. Uncle, a—a gentleman waits 
on you, begs to see you, begs also that his name be 
not mentioned. 

Franklin. A strange request. (To others.) 
Have I your permission? 

Rutledge. We will withdraw. 

Franklin. No, no! 

Sally ushers in Beaumarchais: she waits 
near door. 

Franklin {cordially) . Ah, we have met before. 

Beaumarchais (hastily). In England— yes sir! 

But I must beg of your indulgence- I have a 

care for this my head; in America I go by the 
name of ‘Hortalez.’ Gentlemen, consider my house 
as the head of all operations useful to your cause 
in Europe, and myself, as the most zealous partizan 
of your nation, the soul of your successes, and a 
man most profoundly filled with respectful esteem. 
Dr. Franklin I come with offers to the Continental 
Congress. 

Adams. My good sir, Dr. Franklin is not the 
Continental Congress. 

Beaumarchais. All that matters! 


72 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Adams. We will go. 

Franklin. Stay, gentlemen! 

Beaumarchais. Do not be offended that all 
Europe has heard of Dr. Franklin,—respects and 
honours. Therefore I am entrusted—I pray your 
confidence—to offer to your cause gold, arms, pow¬ 
der—what you want. 

Rutledge. From-? 

Beaumarchais. France. 

Franklin. The French Government? 

Beaumarchais {smiling). I did not say so, my 
dear sir. 

Rutledge. From private sources? 

Beaumarchais. From the firm of Hortalez and 
Company. 

Adams {gloomily ). The name has a fictitious 
sound. 

Beaumarchais. You will not find the gold and 
powder fictions. 

Rutledge. Will you not tell us more of your¬ 
self, sir? 

Beaumarchais. Faith, yes! I am orator, if 
necessary; poet, for amusement; musician, occa¬ 
sionally. Ambitious through vanity; laborious, by 
necessity; but idle with delight! 

Adams. Humph! An artist {With scorn.) 

Beaumarchais {rounding on him). Yes sir, an 
artist! Nobility, money, rank, place, all that makes 
people so proud! What have you done for so much 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


73 


good fortune? You have given yourself the trou¬ 
ble to be born. While for me, lost in a crowd of 
nobodies, I have had need of more knowledge sim¬ 
ply to exist, than has been employed to govern all 
the Spains for a hundred years. 

Rutledge. What we seek to divine, sir, are 
your reasons for this offer. 

Beaumarchais. Ah, gentlemen, I am playing 
with the idea of liberty. I dream of a free people 
which shall gather the down-trod of the earth and 
give them—-liberty—equality—brotherhood- 

Franklin (leaning toward him with interest). 
Monsieur, do you see the seeds of such a state in us? 

Beaumarchais. Dear Sir, I see—nothing. I 
hope—everything. I, who have been put in prison 
for a squib at royalty, have visions of a free press. 
I, whose work has been repeatedly banned from 
the stage, dream of free speech and free assembly. 

Adams. You stride too fast, sir. Liberty from 
England is desirable—yes—but not license—never 
license! 

Beaumarchais (solemnly). No! Never license! 
Never! (There is a pause.) I see you doubt me. 
I will be frank. Your life and liberty were little 
to me did I not come hither in pursuit of mine own 
happiness. Gentlemen, this is the one affair of my 
life into which I have put “more heart than head.” 
(Glances toward Miss Franklin, who flushes.) 

Franklin (smiling). Say no more. We do ill 
to quarrel with the gifts of heaven. Will you 
wait our answer? My niece shall entertain you. 

Beaumarchais (goes to door and bending over 
Miss Franklin's hand, kisses it). Sir, to your 



74 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

cause I pledge “my life, my fortune and my sacred 
honor.” 

Adams (as soon as the door shuts). I do not 
approve, I do not approve at all. Let us stand 
alone and defy the world if need be. 

Franklin. And hang as rebels? 

Rutledge. Better to owe favor to none than 
to a Frenchy! 

Adams. I distrust that man; he may be an 
English spy. 

Franklin. I know the man. I return with him 
to France. 

Rutledge. You! No, no! ’Twould be a 
difficult voyage and a dangerous! Should Britain 
catch you on the high seas-! ! ! ! ! 

Franklin. Pshaw! Perhaps the best use for 
an old fag end; ’tis stuff for mending breeches. 

Adams. I think, Dr. Franklin, you take too 
much upon yourself. Your services have been 
valuable, most valuable; but, after all, you cannot 
speak for the Continental Congress. 

Franklin. The Continental Congress has 
spoken, gentlemen. I have this morning received 
the appointment to Paris. 

Adams and Rutledge pick up their hats and 
bow ceremoniously and stiffly , and turn to depart. 

Franklin (holding out his hands to both). Gen¬ 
tlemen, let us hang together, or most assuredly we 
shall hang—separately. 


CURTAIN, 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


7 5 


ACT IV 

The home of de Chaumont, Passy, France, 
enthusiastically lent to Franklin. 1778. 

In a congenial atmosphere of French wit, 
Franklin is enjoying himself, giving a dinner 
party, greatly to Arthur Lee’s disgust. But with 
Paris feting him, making small images of him . for 
adoration, even Arthur Lees can he treated with 
indulgence. 

The news of reverses to American arms, con¬ 
stant during the last two years, must he hidden 
under a mask of gaiety; hence the salon is bright 
with candle light, the candles being set high in 
sconces. A fire is glowing, in huge stone chimney 
to right, on which is carved the Chaumont coat of 
arms. The room is panelled, with scenes by Wat¬ 
teau set in the panels. Small doors lead out to 
right {Street), and left {Interior). There is a 
small table near left door, on which are set candles 
and tapers for retiring. Another small table occu¬ 
pies center of room; on it is set a small statuette 
of Franklin. Two very handsome chairs are 
drawn up to fire. Other straight chairs against 
wall. A large clock is set against the back wall. 

The large curtained entrance at the back leads to 
the banquet room from which comes a song by 
the Abbe Morellet, bursts of laughter and an 
occasional cry of “Franklin.” 

SONG 

“Let history our Franklin name, 

Grave on brass with pen of fame; 

’Tis to us the task belongs 
Him to sing in drinking songs. 

Come, begin, 

Drink and sing our Benjamin.” 


76 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


“Great in politics is he, 

At the table gay and free; 

Founding empires see him quaff 
Flowing cups and hear him laugh. 

Gay and grave as a Capuchin, 

Such is our Benjamin/’ 

Lee enters with Servant. (Possibly Frank¬ 

lin’s old darky servant.) 

Lee. Tell him I’m here! (Servant goes. Lee 
looks around with disgust.) Positively the man 
wallows in popularity. No time for his country’s 
interest! ( Takes up statuette, then replaces it with 
a sneer.) 

SONG (continues.) 

“Like the eagle see him rise 
Nobly daring to the skies, 

And carry off as plunder 
The earth-alarming thunder. 

Happy sin 

Of the clever Benjamin.” 

Franklin enters from behind curtain. 

Franklin. Come in, come in, sir! 

Lee (stiffly). I fear I interrupt an affair of 
state. 

Franklin (smiling). A state of affairs not to 
your liking, eh ? Mr. Lee, a sorry countenance will 
doom America’s cause quicker- 

Lee. Sir, I- 

Voice of Madame Helvetius (who appears be¬ 
tween curtains). Where is he? We will not spare 
Franklin’s blushes. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


77 


She enters, possibly carrying her famous poodle, 
followed by M. and Mme. de Chaumont, Sally 
Franklin, the Abbe Morellet, and others. 

Mme. Helvetius. Indeed sir, you shall not es¬ 
cape our poetry for Mr. Lee’s prose. Sing, Abbe. 

Morellet {bows and sings). 

"‘Never did mankind engage 
In a war with views more sage. 

They seek freedom with design 
To drink plenty of French wine. 

Such has been 

The intent of Benjamin.” 

Lee. Madame Helvetius, I’ll cap the Abbe’s 
verses with one more true. 

Madame Helvetius {doubtfully) . As good as 
the Abbe’s? 

Lee {recites). 

Who doth always seek to try 
Have a finger in each pie? 

He forgets quite what his age is 
When he looks on pretty ladies. 

See him swill on Chaumont’s wine! 

Such is our Benjamine. 

Franklin {good-naturedly). I’ll confess when 
ladies are in question, my age is quite forgotten. 

Madame Helvetius. By the ladies! We par¬ 
don age for its wit and courtesy, even as we forgive 
insolence because of youth, dear Mr. Lee. 

A big, fat, smiling Pastry-Cook enters bear¬ 
ing a huge cake with lighted candles. 


Franklin. What’s this? 


78 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Cook ( bowing as low as able). Congratula¬ 
tions from zee pastry-cooks of Paris to Dr. 
Franklin on his fete. Ze zirteen plums—zey are 
ze zirteen colonies. (He bows and departs, set¬ 
ting cake on center of table from which Madame 
Helvetius removes statuette.) 

M. de Chaumont. Ah sir, your country pre¬ 
sents a divine spectacle to Europe. 

Franklin. Too free! Far too free! 

Morellet. Eh? 

Franklin. The spectators don’t pay enough. 
’Tis hard for an empty sack to stand upright. 

Madame Helvetius. Here’s a cake! What 
does the man want? 

Franklin. I’d not be thankless, but a cake, 
dear Madame, is a poor substitute for food for 
starving armies. Is this all the aid I may expect 
from Paris for my people? 

Madame Helvetius (taking plum). Take it 
but as a symbol- 

Franklin. That I’ll get both cake and credit 
too? How much? 

Madame Helvetius. Ah greedy! See how 
your name, writ large, covers the whole big cake 
—‘Le digne Franklin.’ 

Lee (bitterly). Of course! His name obscures 
all others. Paris never remembers that Silas Deane 
and I are also commissioners. 

Madame Helvetius (sweetly). That’s very true. 

Franklin. Tut! Tut! These folks have but 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


79 


mis-spelled our names. Tis writ: The worthy 
Franklin, Le digne Franklin—a patent error! Spell 
it but correctly, it reads: 

Lee—Deane—Franklin—three in one—( Bows to 
Lee.) 

Lee. I know you would unite the powers of us 
all in you alone—but- 

Madame Helvetius. Bless the man! 

Lee. But even if Paris had remembered me, 
they never would have writ: Lee—Deane—Frank¬ 
lin. No! They still would have put you first. 

Madame Helvetius. Indeed, you are right. 
See, Monsieur what they sell in the Palais Royal! 
(Shows statuette of Franklin.) Behold his spec¬ 
tacles and smile. 

Madame de Chaumont. Let me see—a verit¬ 
able idol! And do you say your prayers to it, my 
dear? 

Franklin. She lets me do the kneeling. 

Lee makes a movement of disgust; the other 
men, smiling, turn toward dining-room. 

Madame Helvetius. Come out soon, dear 
Doctor! 

Franklin. Soon as these wine-bibbers permit! 
(He follows with Lee.) 

Madame de Chaumont (to Sally). What a 
dear man, your uncle, Mademoiselle! 

Madame Helvetius. Wasted on England all 
these years! 

Madame de Chaumont. Their fogs had no 
effect on him: he is so French. 



80 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Madame Helvetius. Let us conspire in his 
behalf! They say—this is in confidence—the gov¬ 
ernment is yielding. Dear Louis will give Frank¬ 
lin anything he asks for. 

Sally Franklin. Ah, Madame, are you a ward 
of the king? 

Madame Helvetius ( taps her with fan). Go to, 
you are saucy. Madame de Chaumont, let us leave 
this minx. Show me the walnuts and other curi¬ 
osities from America. ( They two pass out. Left.) 

Sally Franklin curls up in arm-chair before 
fire with statuette. 


Song from dining-room. 

“Some faults have we all and so has my Joan, 

But then they’re exceedingly small, 

And now I’ve grown used to them, so like my own, 
I scarcely can see them at all, my dear friends, 

I scarcely can see ’em at all.” 

Beaumarchais enters hastily; Sally rises 
eagerly. 

Sally Franklin. Your manners grow shock¬ 
ing, Monsieur; you’re very late. 

Beaumarchais (glancing from, her to the cake 
and back again). But I’m in time for the sweets. 

Sally Franklin. There! Your dessert. ( She 
gives a tiny plum. They stand one on each side of 
table idly nibbling plums.) 

Beaumarchais. Cruel! And ’twas her business 
kept me. You will be secret? 

Sally Franklin (nods). Mum! 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


81 


Beaumarchais. I come from Paris. Tonight 
the Count de Vergennes, Minister of War, will re¬ 
ceive Franklin. 

Sally Franklin. Tonight! ! ! O gemini! 
And that means-? 

Beaumarchais. Recognition of America near 
—so near! 

Sally Franklin. What can prevent now? 

Beaumarchais. Nothing but a disaster to 
American arms. To be frank, Mademoiselle, 
France waits to see on which side her bread is 
buttered, but on the quiet would gladly thwart 
England. 

Sally Franklin. Monsieur de Beaumarchais, 
should England learn that you, Hortalez and Com¬ 
pany, represent France, would you not be in dan¬ 
ger? 

Beaumarchais. No— not I ! 

Sally Franklin. You mean? 

Beaumarchais. I mean should England learn 
all France has given to America, she would force 
France to declare herself: Abandon America— sur¬ 
render Franklin—or fight. 

Sally Franklin. Surrender—Franklin? 

Beaumarchais ( comfortingly ). We will not. 
Keep your mind fixed: To win, that is his metier. 
The wreath of failure would rest unsteadily upon 
his brow. To him belongs the comedy’s crown of 
roses. 

Sally Franklin (courtesies low). Success to 
the playwright! 



82 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Beaumarchais. You are cast for—intrigante. 

Sally Franklin. Me? 

Beaumarchais. Franklin is due at the Tuileries 
in fifty minutes; you must cause to vanish all 
these people. ( Nods toward dining-room ..) 

Sally Franklin {in dismay). How? 

Beaumarchais {shrugs). There’s to be a play 
at court tonight; I’ll present my box to Madame. 
Where is she? (Sally nods to left.) You must 
say “Good-by” to the others. {He goes off right.) 

Sally stands considering. The Servant enters. 

Servant. Mrs. Howe! 

Mrs. Howe enters. Sally turns quickly and 
makes elaborate courtesy. 

Sally Franklin. Oh Madam, what honour! 

Mrs. Howe {in the act of returning the cour¬ 
tesy, pauses). Madame—why, bless me, child, can 

it be-? {Examines her.) They’ve made a fine 

French baggage out of you! Rouge! Coiffure! 
Patches! Abominable! 

Sally Franklin. Oh Madam, do you then not 
approve ? 

Mrs. Howe. My dear, do try to be as little 
French as may be. You see it can be done. No 
one would mistake me for a fine French hussy. 

Sally Franklin {murmurs). No, Ma’am! 

Mrs. Howe {holding up chain Sally is wear¬ 
ing). And that chain! Too fine, child, for a 
spinster! 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


83 


Sally Franklin. Yes, Ma’am. I’ve heard tell 
that only married women wear chains in England. 

Mrs. Howe {affectionately) . Sly minx! {Pinches 
her cheek.) Where’s Franklin? 

Sally Franklin {regarding clock desperately). 
He is engaged—I regret- 

Mrs. Howe. Pshaw! He’ll see me—come all 
the way from England. {Burst of laughter from 
behind curtain.) The Lord ha’ mercy, child! 
What’s this? 

Sally Franklin. His fete. Observe the cake, 
sent by the pastry-cooks of Paris to celebrate sev¬ 
enty-two years of service. 

Mrs. Howe. Bah! You can’t make me be¬ 
lieve Benjamin, as a baby, was serving his fellow- 
man. 

Sally Franklin. He played with kites. 

Enter Madame Helvetius, Madame de Chau- 
mont and Beaumarchais. 

Madame de Chaumont. Ah, is this another 
friend to grace our fete ? 

Mrs. Howe. Our fete? 

Madame de Chaumont. The fete of Dr. Frank¬ 
lin, in whose honor Paris is all lit up. But I see 
you are English. 

Madame Helvetius {sweeping a low courtesy). 
Yet he attracts the brilliant of all lands to do him 
reverence. 

Mrs. Howe. He’s flown his kite exceeding high 
to have attracted you. 



84 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Madame Helvetius {sweetly). Nay, Madam, 
I have flown my kite at him. 

Mrs. Howe {under her breath). Hussy! 

Franklin and others enter from back. 

Franklin {hastening forward). Mrs. Howe, 
what honor! We’ll finish yet that longed-for game 
of chess, but I warn you, I play without a king. 
May I present Madame de Chaumont—and Mon¬ 
sieur, to whose generosity I owe this dwelling. 

Chaumont. Dr. Franklin immortalizes my 
house by his mere residence. 

Franklin. You see, Madam, what flatterers 
here in Paris! 

Mrs. Howe. Indeed we hear most scandalous 
tales of you, dear Doctor, and the society you keep. 

Franklin. Libels, Ma’am, libels! {To Beau¬ 
marchais.) Come, sir, explain your absence. 

Beaumarchais. A thousand compliments, dear 
sir—could not come earlier! My excuses—most 
pressing business with his Majesty. 

Madame Helvetius. And one can see—felici¬ 
tous? 

Beaumarchais. You read me. 

Madame Helvetius {with a corner of her eye 
non Mrs. Howe). I may be indiscreet, but I dare 
swear from Beaumarchais’ high spirits, the French 
alliance with America has even now been granted. 

Mrs. Howe looks dacted. Beaumarchais bows 
low in mockery. 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


85 


Beaumarchais. Madame Helvetius among the 
prophets! 

Mrs. Howe. Is this true, Franklin? 

Franklin. Ah Ma’am were it so, I’d be strug- 
ling at this very minute to get into my court suit 
—which I don’t possess—to make my bow to their 
majesties. 

Madame Helvetius ( teasingly ). Miss Frank¬ 
lin, perhaps you can account for his high spirits? 

Sally Franklin. Look at the cake! We have 
separated the thirteen colonies from England. ( She 
lifts it to show the plums all gone.) 

Madame Helvetius. Poor! Poor! Try again! 

Beaumarchais. Ah Madame, it has been my 
happiness today to behold the world’s two great 
philosophers embrace. 

Madame Helvetius. Voltaire and-? 

Beaumarchais. Franklin- 

Madame Helvetius (to Franklin). You are 
very shy: relate to us, Monsieur. 

Franklin. I leave the stage to Beaumarchais. 
(He draws aside with Mrs. Howe.) 

Beaumarchais (passing snuff to Morellet and 
de Chaumont). Permit me! I play the role of 
Franklin. (To Madame Helvetius.) You, 
Madame, be Voltaire: the rest, the crowd, who 
swarmed to see them. Time—noon, today! Place 
—a public theatre! They are introduced: they bow, 
Madame! (Both how low.) The people cry: ‘En¬ 
core !” They warmly shake each other by the 
hand. (He takes her hand.) 


86 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Madame Chaumont. And then? 

Beaumarchais. The crowd goes mad, and in a 
mighty voice, cries: “Solon—Sophocles! II faut 
s’embrasser a la Frangaise.” (Beaumarchais leans 
forward; Madame Helvetius draws back.) Why, 
Madame, does Voltaire retreat? 

Madame Helvetius {laughing). In truth, 
Monsieur, because you are not really Franklin. 

Beaumarchais. Cruel! 

Franklin ( advancing, to Beaumarchais). Sly 
dog! {To Madame Helvetius.) Here I am, 
Madame! 

Madame Helvetius. Ah, would that Helve¬ 
tius, my beloved husband, had lived to assist you, 
Doctor! 

Franklin. He’s very well as he is. 

Madame Helvetius. Ah? 

Franklin. I was in Hades the other night, the 
last time you refused me, and saw him, stretched 
at his ease with happiness writ large upon his face. 
He cried to me, “Sit down; my wife will bring 
choice viands.” 

I cried: “Your wife? But she is living!” Well, 
he blushed. I asked, “Are you disloyal to your 
wife who—despite all pleadings—stays so true to 
you?” 

He muttered: “It’s different in Hades.” 

Even as he spoke his heavenly wife, bearing am¬ 
brosia, entered. What was my horror, Sirs, and 
Madams, to recognize the late dear Mrs. Franklin. 

Beaumarchais {applauding ). Ingenious, by my 
faith! 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


87 


Franklin. I claimed my spouse; she answered 
me but coldly; “I was a good wife to you for 
forty-nine years, six months exactly—there upon 
earth: here I am his.” 

In my chagrin I woke. (He turns to Madame 
Helvetius impressively.) Let us avenge our¬ 
selves ! 

Madame de Chaumont. Pray hide your 
blushes. Fie, Dr. Franklin, give us time to de¬ 
part. 

Mrs. Howe (stiffly). Dr. Franklin, I must go. 

Madame Helvetius. Which reminds me—we 
too must dress for court. (To Sally.) Made¬ 
moiselle, there is to be a play by Moliere; would you 
have the curiosity-? 

Sally Franklin. Madame is kind—but- 

(She looks uncertainly at Mrs. Howe.) 

Mrs. Howe. Don’t wait for me, child; I must 
return to Paris. 

Madame Helvetius (to Sally). In half an 
hour may I call? (Sally courtesies.) Messieurs! 
Mesdames! (She courtesies and goes with Chau¬ 
mont, his wife, the Abbe Morellet.) 

Lee broods darkly in the background. Sally 
and Beaumarchais hover about trying to break up 
the conversation. 

Mrs. Howe (to Franklin). And so, Frank¬ 
lin, we meet again! How foreign this atmosphere 
to your taste! You, who used to delight in the 
well-bred society of London! 

Franklin. It is different. Here, the breeding 
shows more on the surface. 




88 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Mrs. Howe. Exactly! My dear friend, put no 
trust in these false perfidious French; they only 
seek their own advantage. 

Franklin (smiling). And England seeks our 
welfare ? 

Mrs. Howe. Love well, whip well! You’re 
beaten. Your only hope lies in French recognition. 
France will not recognise you while you’re beaten 
—a vicious circle! But England is generous. I 
am bid say, Take all you ever asked for—but re¬ 
turn. 

Franklin. As colonies? 

Mrs. Howe. How else? 

Franklin. This is the year of grace, 1778. We 
ask more than in ’76. Then we prayed our rights; 
now we ask independence; two years hence we’ll 
demand the Floridas—Canada- Today is yes¬ 

terday’s pupil. 

Mrs. Howe. Impudence! England offers more 
than in ’76. She grants the justice of every claim 
and more—she’ll make your leading people peers. 

Franklin. Behold the world will laugh at 
new-sets of home-made earls in Massachusetts. 

Mrs. Howe. Benjamin Franklin, you would 
jest with the hang-man. 

Franklin. My dear Madam, Poverty, poetry 
and new titles of honour make men ridiculous. 

Mrs. Howe. You would escape the ridicule of 
failure. 

Franklin. Is your opinion of your friend so 
mean? 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


89 


Mrs. Howe. England esteems you, sir, so high¬ 
ly, she sends your friends as envoys to your 
person. 

Franklin. My vanity might be flattered did 
not your proposals show you entertain a mean 
opinion of me. 

Mrs. Howe. I don’t; but how about your other 
rebels—Washington, Jefferson? Perhaps they 
value what you scorn. 

Franklin. Washington! You think that Wash¬ 
ington-! ! ( He opens his mouth to pour forth 

his feelings, then decides it is not worth while, and 
lets his breath out again.) Madame, come, a game 
of chess? 

Mrs. Howe. Can you speak also for Mr. Lee? 
(Looking toward him.) 

Lee (stiffly). Dr. Franklin spoke my sentiments, 
Ma’am. 

Franklin. You see, Ma’am, how we rebels 
hang together? 

Mrs. Howe (dryly). I see. 

Franklin (to Sally). My child, the chess 
board! 

Mrs. Howe. Benjamin Franklin, do you insin¬ 
uate I’m equal to chess, but not politics? (She 
sits, annoyed, yet half smiling.) 

Franklin. Ah, Madam, politics is a dirty game, 
but chess—this is a fete day. 

Sally Franklin (with determination). Madam 
will you not ride with us to Paris? Madame Hel- 
vetius has a box- 


90 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Mrs. Howe. That woman! No! Run along, 
child! 

Sally brings chess-board reluctantly. She and 
Beaumarchais hover in background trying to 
break up game. He might set clock ahead, or 
quench the fire, or open window and let in draft, 
so that Mrs. Howe has repeatedly to pull up her 
wrap, etc., etc. 

Franklin. Chess is my weakness. Often my 
conscience says, “You're wasting time. For shame, 
with those gray hairs!” “Tut, Tut,” I answer, “I 
know the soul will live forever, so why be a nig¬ 
gard with a little time?” 

Mrs. Howe. What a justification for indolence! 

Franklin. So says Lee. ( With a glance toward 
him.) 

Mrs. Howe. Check! (Franklin makes a 
move.) You can’t do that and leave your king 
in danger. 

Franklin. I’ll fight the battle en republicain. 
You’ll see, the side without a king will win. 

Mrs. Howe. We don’t play without a king in 
England. 

Franklin. In America we do. 

Mrs. Howe. Fighting for—what? 

Franklin. The pawns, Ma’am. 

Mrs. Howe. I suppose that’s what you call 
“democracy.” You’ll hang yet, sir. 

Sally {desperately) . Madam, could you spare 
time to show me how to dress my hair a la mode 
anglaise ? 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


91 


Mrs. Howe. Some other time, child! Come to 
me in Paris. Monsieur Beaumarchais, show me to 
my coach. Franklin, I’ll have another game with 
you if I have to cheat the hangman. (She goes 
out with Sally and Beaumarchais.) 

Lee strides forward . 

Lee. Now have you time to ’tend to business? 

Franklin. Drat the man! I’ve been doing 
nothing else. 

Lee. I bring news of the blackest; Bancroft’s a 
traitor. All record of the aid France has given us, 
Bancroft has sold to the English. 

Franklin (stares). If such a man is not 
damned, it is not worth while to keep a devil. 

Lee. There’s no use swearing- 

Franklin. This will force the issue. 

Lee. Hang it all, why not? It’s time France 
did something beside skulk behind the fence. 
F'rance must recognize us now a sovereign state— 
and fight with England or- 

Franklin. Abandon us. 

Lee. Bah! Then threaten a return to Eng¬ 
land; France would not relish that. 

Franklin. Are you serious, Mr. Lee? 

Lee. Well, it’s a case of necessity. 

Franklin. Necessity never yet made a good 
bargain. 

Lee. Damme, what’s left to us ? Affairs at 




92 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


home are desperate, our armies humbled, British 
arms triulmphant! Congress demanding gold- 

Franklin {smiling). We here, expected to do 
the miracle of loaves and fishes-- 

Lee. Exactly! So Dr. Franklin gives—dinner¬ 
parties. 

Franklin. Last, not least, American Commis¬ 
sioners in Paris—at odds! See you, sir, remember 
an old maxim: Always believe a friend is in the 
right, until proved wrong. 

Lee. Your maxim is an old one. I’ve acted on 
it patiently two years—following where you’ve led 
to the accomplishment of—nothing. 

Franklin. Nothing? 

Lee {firmly). Nothing! 

Franklin. Two years you say we’ve wasted; 
for two years I’ve been a beggar on my knees to 
France, shamelessly crying gold, and France has 
met our desperate need with—sir, you had our pa¬ 
pers, tell me the sum France has given? 

Lee {sullenly). Five million francs, but- 

Franklin. We’ve accomplished nothing. Though 
England has protested, France has winked at our 
selling prizes in her ports- 

Lee. But- 

Franklin. We’ve accomplished nothing. France 
has thrown across the Atlantic, men, food, guns, 
powder. Why are the envoys both to Tuscany and 
Spain in Paris? These countries love us tenderly 
but prefer us—beyond their borders- 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


93 


Lee. But you will not press the government of 
France for recognition. 

Franklin. France is the only friend we have 
in Europe, and, short of recognition, has granted 
all; and yet you say we have accomplished nothing. 

Lee. I think you miss my point; I was not accus¬ 
ing France so much as- 

Franklin. Me? {Shrugs.) Well, I’m used to 
it. 

Lee. The truth is—and I have writ it to th’ 
congress—three commissioners in Paris are two 
too many. 

Franklin. Ah! 

Lee. We work ill together; you have never 
trusted me. 

Franklin. Tut, man, you had charge of all 
our papers. 

Lee. A despatch came recently; you did not 
show it. 

Franklin. I hoped I need never show it. {Takes 
paper from, pocket and hands to Lee). Have it 
your own way, sir. 

Lee {reads, then looks up furiously). Is this 
your work, Dr. Franklin? 

Franklin {whimsically) . I did but also write 
to congress, that three commissioners were—too 
many. So—I resigned. 

Lee {dazedly). You resigned? 

Franklin {lightly). But congress— has done 
me the honor to refuse my resignation. 



94 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Lee. So I’m packed off to Prussia; you, left 

here to reap where I have sown- ( He turns to 

go.) 

Franklin. Man, man, go not in anger- 

Servant (at door, announces). Mr. Whately, 
of the English Embassy. 

Franklin and Lee stare at one another. 

Franklin. Whately! (Lee continues his out¬ 
ward march; Franklin places hand on his shoul¬ 
der.) Mr. Lee, ITn old and tired; I’ll to bed. 
Will you receive him? (Lee, half-mollified, turns.) 
If he’s come to make proposals of peace, be firm— 
but polite. Good-night, sir. 

Lee follows Servant. Franklin lights candle 
and turns to go. Sally runs in with wine-colored 
velvet coat. 

Sally Franklin. Here is your coat, and— 
wait a moment—I’ll fetch your wig. (She runs 
out leaving Franklin staring at coat he holds 
helplessly; in a moment she returns with huge wig.) 
I ordered one for you unbeknownst, in case—just 
in case—something should happen. (If desired the 
wig-maker can be here introduced as is historically 
correct.) 

Franklin. What has happened? 

Sally Franklin. Try it on, dear. (She tries 
to adjust it.) 

Franklin (mildly). My dear, the wig is too 
small. 

Sally Franklin (vainly endeavoring to get it 
on). I measured. No, no! It is not the wig which 
is too small; it is the head which is too big, dear. 
(Kisses him.) You’ll have to go au naturel. 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


95 


Franklin. And where—if a question is per¬ 
mitted—am I to go? 

Sally Franklin. Where — above all other 
places—do you wish to go? 

Franklin. To bed! 

Sally Franklin. Oh fie! You are to go—to 
the Tuileries; Count Vergennes will receive you. 
(She executes a war dance.) 

Franklin ( thoughtfully ). The Tuileries? 

Beaumarchais ( hastens in). I’ve called a coach; 
it waits. Monsieur, tonight may seal the French 
alliance. I wish you—how do you say it?—luck. 

Franklin. Is it for that? (Beaumarchais 
shrugs, not knowing.) Or sir, is it known that 
France's generosity to us is betrayed to the English? 

Beaumarchais ( whistles, then). By Lee? 

Franklin. Lee’s no traitor. Bancroft! 

Beaumarchais. When? 

Franklin. Today. 

Beaumarchais ( urging him). To Paris! To 
Paris! 

Franklin. You’ll go with me? 

Beaumarchais. My horse is below: I’ll catch 
you up. 

Franklin. If our despatches come, have ’em 
sent after. A victory now- (Goes.) 

Sally Franklin. Monsieur, go with him. 
Make France fight for America! 



96 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Beaumarchais. Fie, Mademoiselle, why are 
women such indomitable fighters? 

Sally Franklin. We’re not. We hate war— 
in general: but this war- 

Beaumarchais {laughs). On every warrior’s 
heart since Cain slew Abel are graven these words: 
MY war was pure and holy. 

Sally Franklin. But you enlisted- 

Beaumarchais. Selfishly—in the pursuit of— 
happiness. 

Sally Franklin. Monsieur, you amaze and 
shock me. 

Beaumarchais. Mademoiselle, examine all con¬ 
ditions from the grave ambassador with his cypher, 
to the comic author with his scribble, from the 
ingenious minister who invents a new tax to the 
obscure purloiner who also dives into the pockets, 
where is anything done which is not for the profit 
of the well-beloved receipts? 

Sally Franklin. And you have received— 
nothing- 

Beaumarchais. As yet- Mademoiselle, I 

can write love affairs so much better than I can 
make them. 

Sally Franklin. Monsieur, it’s—lucky for 
your plays. 

Enter Lee and Whately. 

Lee. Where’s Franklin? In bed yet? 

Whately. Gad, Miss Franklin! {Slowly ap¬ 
praising her.) Is this Miss Franklin? Faith, my 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


97 


dear, you should thank us for getting ye sent to 
Paris; it did ye service. (Sally courtesies low.) 

I won’t wait for Franklin. Ye can tell him the 
good news when he wakes in the morning. Your 
servant! {He bows and goes.) 

Lee. Where’s Franklin? 

Beaumarchais. Gone to Paris. 

Lee. To Paris? The old liar! Had he heard 
the news? 

Beaumarchais. What news? 

Sally. Has the courier come? {They speak 
simultaneously.) 

Lee. This is the end—my God! And Franklin 
as usual neglecting his country’s interests. 

Beaumarchais {impatiently). What is the end? 

Lee. News from Paris—a mighty British vic¬ 
tory in America. 

Beaumarchais {contemptuously). Such news 
usually comes from Paris—made up in the British 
embassy. Why was Whately here? 

Lee. Tried to pump me—to see if we knew 
more- 

Beaumarchais. You told him- 

Lee. Sir, I told him nothing—I knew nothing, 
Franklin tells me nothing—I told him our courier 
was over-due. 

Beaumarchais. What road? 

Lee. The road from Havre—by way of Rouen. 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Beaumarchais. Whately’s half-way there by 
now! He’ll get your despatches, man. 

Lee. By gad— that's what Whately came for! 

Sally Franklin. Steal’em? 

Beaumarchais. I’ll ride to meet your courier. 

Lee. Not the first they’ve stole, by a long shot! 

Beaumarchais {grimly). He shall stand and 
deliver. {Rounds on Sally). If I succeed- 

Sally Franklin {holding out her arms). If 
you succeed—or fail. {He catches her in an em¬ 
brace.) Go—go! 

Beaumarchais. Whately can’t beat me; I have 
the strength of all the lovers since Troy-town. I’ll 
get those despatches and catch up with Franklin 
at the Tuileries. {Struggles into cloak.) 

Lee. Franklin—at the Tuileries! 

Sally Franklin. Why does not Mr. Lee ride 
for the despatches? 

Lee {with great excitement) . Good gad, ma’am, 
Franklin at the Tuileries—without me! I’m an 
American envoy—not a highwayman; I must join 
Franklin at the Tuileries. {Goes.) 

Beaumarchais {snatches a kiss). Oh, we’ll all 
join Franklin at the Tuileries! {Goes hastily.) 


curtain. 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


99 


ACT V 

A small panelled room in the Palace of the 
Tuileries, opening by large doors at the back into 
the Grande Salle. In the embrasures at each side 
of the large door are stained-glass windows, set in 
Gothic frames and emblazoned with the arms of 
France. The room is lighted by candles set high 
in sconces. 

A small, exquisite cabinet desk is at the left, at 
which Count Vergennes, Minister of War, is 
seated, facing Lord Storemont, who is squarely 
placed in a chair with his back to the door. There 
is a small side door to the right. 

Storemont (thumping table). Count Vergennes, 
ye must face th’ issue squarely; ye must stop this 
illicit aid to th’ colonies. 

Vergennes (raising eyebrows). Must — my 
lord? 

Storemont. Damme, sir, Fm a plain unvar¬ 
nished man, can’t say one thing and mean another. 
Is France at war with us or is she not? 

Vergennes. Sir- 

Storemont. For two years France has secretly 
fostered this rebellion in America- 

Vergennes. You have no proof. 

Storemont ( triumphantly ). Aye, but I have, 
Count Vergennes, I have proofs. I’ve waited for 
’em and I’ve got ’em. 

Vergennes. Lord Storemont, I’ve asked Dr. 
Franklin to come here. We will talk over the 
affair man to man- 




100 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Storemont ( slightly taken aback). Damme, sir 
—between you and me—Franklin’s a match for 
both of us—man to man; but, my lord, country to 
country, England’s a match for a dozen of ye. 

Vergennes. We shall see. ( Touches bell. 
Secretary enters by small door.) Go, see if Dr. 
Franklin waits. (Secretary goes.) 

Storemont. Two years since I protested against 
Benjamin Franklin’s coming here; it was a smack 
in the face of England’s pride. Franklin came. 
For two years I have come, remonstrated, gone 
and come again; France has greeted us politely, 
given us soft words—and winked at Dr. Franklin. 

Vergennes. O monsieur, say rather—laughed 
at him! 

Secretary ushers in Franklin. 

Storemont. Damme, she’s laughed at us. 

Vergennes ( going forward eagerly). Dr. 
Franklin, it gives me great pleasure to meet a man 
renowned all over Europe, a man who casts such 
lustre on the name of England. 

Franklin. You do me too much honour; but, my 
lord, I am American. The English do not claim 
me, eh, Lord Storemont? 

Storemont ( smiles, unable to resist). Indeed 
they do; they demand you; the gallows waits. 

Franklin ( smiling whimsically). England of¬ 
fers peerages with one hand and halters with 
t’other. 

Vergennes. Two worlds claim Dr. Franklin. 
(More seriously.) Sir, we are at a turning of the 
ways. America must convince the world she is a 
state able to stand alone—or- 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


101 


Franklin. He who would rise at court must 
begin by creeping. 

Storemont. Ye’ve crept long enough. If ye 
can scrap—ye can fight alone; or, by heaven, let 
France play fair, come out into the open! Eng- 
land’ll fight both of ye—and lick ye. 

Vergennes ( significantly ). Dr. Franklin— if we 
fight—do we win? A word, man! Say you’re win¬ 
ning—I’ll take it as gospel. ( Leans forward eag¬ 
erly.) 

Storemont. Ay, Dr. Franklin, say you’re win¬ 
ning; I dare ye! 

Franklin. My lord—we are losing—as a child 
not yet full-grown against his grand-dam; but with 
every licking our powers grow. America—my lord 
—is a lusty infant. 

Storemont. A half-truth! Ye are losing and 
ye’ll lose. The question is: Will France recog¬ 
nise you and share your failure? 

Franklin. We will not fail, if France grant 
recognition. 

Storemont. Will France’s king dare aid a rebel? 

Franklin. Pardon—this day’s rebel is tomor¬ 
row’s freeman—and alas!—next week’s autocrat. 

Storemont (to Vergennes). If they succeed, 
what king may rest secure? 

Franklin. Only the good kings! We had not 
separated had our king been such. 

Storemont. Mr. Franklin, I was not address¬ 
ing you —and you have not separated— yet. 


102 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Franklin. Not yet—but as the cream, gather¬ 
ing from the milk its richness, virtue, is separate. 
The cream’s atop; France has but to skim it. 

Vergennes. For whose use? 

Franklin. Yours and ours! Our commerce 
was once the jealous property of England; once 
free, we trade with all the world. 

Vergennes. But France? Would she receive 
especial favor? 

Franklin. In the past ’twas our pride to ape 
England; now we go threadbare; in the future our 
ruffles shall be French and our silk stockings— 
worn a la Frangaise. 

Storemont (bursting with indignation). Gen¬ 
tlemen, you forget I am present. 

Franklin. No, my lord, we are simply playing 
fair. You bring your goods to market; I bring 
ours; his lordship weighs our value. 

Secretary {announces ). Mr. Whately, my lord, 
of the British Embassy! 

Franklin. Ah, more goods for market! 

Vergennes. Admit him. 

Whately enters; he is slightly dishevelled and 
hurried. 

Storemont. Your news, man! 

Whately. My lord, I was coming hither with 
despatches; I was set upon and robbed; I had 
barely ascertained that there had been a mighty vic¬ 
tory in America. {He slides a paper into Store- 
mont’s hand.) 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 103 

Franklin. I knew it; we have won! 

Whately {staring.) You? 

Franklin. You said—a mighty victory. 

Whately. Not for you! A mighty British vic¬ 
tory ! 

Franklin {smiling). No, no, no, no, no! An 
American victory! 

Whately. Sir, would I, an Englishman, name 
aught “victory,” did I not mean for England? 

Franklin {quick as lightning). But, sir, you 
were quoting American despatches. Your news all 
comes from America by way of England; ours 
comes direct. How could you know unless you had 
possessed yourself of American despatches? 

Whately {defiantly). They were American 
despatches but- 

Storemont {sliding the paper Whately had 
given him into his pocket). But the victory is 
British. Gentlemen, General Howe has taken Phila¬ 
delphia. 

Vergennes. Dr. Franklin, did you know of 
this? Is this true? 

Franklin. No, my lord, I do not think it true; 
I think it is only a—Story-mont. {He smiles at 
Storemont.) 

Storemont {bewildered). Eh? 

Franklin {to Whately). Where are those 
despatches ? 

Whately. Sir, as I told you I was set upon 
and robbed- 




104 


BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


Beaumarchais. By me! ( He enters on words, 
followed by another man bearing signs of hard 
riding and fighting.) 

Franklin ( turning to him). Sir, is this true? 
Is Philadelphia taken? 

Beaumarchais ( with dancing eyes). Sir, it is 
true. Howe has taken Philadelphia. 

Franklin (trying to make the best of a bad 
job). If it be true—why Philadelphia is a pleasure- 
loving city—and Howe a pleasure-loving general. 
You will find that Philadelphia has taken Howe. 

Storemont. Chut! Acknowledge yourself 
beaten. 

Franklin. Beaten? (To Beaumarchais.) Is 
Washington dead—or prisoner? 

Beaumarchais. No- 

Storemont. But- 

(They speak almost together.) 

Franklin. Are our other armies destroyed? 

Beaumarchais. No- 

Storemont. But- 

(They speak almost simultaneously.) 

Franklin. Has every freeman in America laid 
down his arms and made submission? 

Beaumarchais. No- 

Storemont. But soon will. 

(They speak with one voice.) 

Look you, Count Vergennes, from Canada, on 
the north, one mighty British army under Burgoyne, 
is descending; from New York, on the south, Henry 






BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


105 


Clinton with another mighty British army is mount¬ 
ing, and there between at—er- 

Beaumarchais. Saratoga. (Franklin looks 
keenly at him.) 

Storemont. Saratoga—lies the last forlorn hope 
of America. We’ve ousted their envoys from 
every court in Europe; in America we have ’em 
out-manoeuvred and out-generaled. Can you still 
see a chance for their success? 

Vergennes. Yes—when I look on Dr. Franklin. 
{All turn to Franklin: his face is alight.) 

Franklin. Mr. Rutledge, your tidings! Out 
with it, man! 

Rutledge (comes forward from, behind Beau¬ 
marchais). Dr. Franklin, gentlemen, I am com¬ 
missioned by the Continental Congress to bear tid¬ 
ings: At Saratoga—Burgoyne, commanding—the 
mightiest British army in America, has surrendered 
. . . out-generaled and out-manoeuvred! 

Franklin (softy). Ah, this is no Story-mont! 
(Turns to Vergennes.) Sir, what French gener¬ 
osity has helped to win, French wisdom will con¬ 
firm? It has ever been my mind a virgin state 
should be in readiness, but wait proposals. America, 
my lord, is a fair virgin. 

Storemont. A minute ago she was a baby. 
Bah! For two years France has supported Amer¬ 
ica as a mistress. 

Franklin. But the time’s arrived to come forth 
boldly and claim alliance. 

Vergennes. I go to consult his Majesty, but Dr. 
Franklin— (takes his hand )—I have no doubt- 




106 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

Franklin. As we have tottered to our feet- 


Vergennes. As to the issue ! Gentlemen! (He 
bows and withdraws.) 

Storemont (to Secretary). Sir, send my pass¬ 
ports to the British Embassy. (Turning to Frank¬ 
lin.) After all, if England’s armies have sur¬ 
rendered, it’s to England’s sons—thank God— and 
not to Frenchies! 

Rutledge. England is late in naming Ameri¬ 
cans “sons.” 

Storemont (glaring at Rutledge). Dr. Frank¬ 
lin, as an American, I wish you hanged; person¬ 
ally, Godspeed! (He goes with Whately.) 

Franklin (turning to Beaumarchais). Sir, I 
fear to overload gratitude, lest she kick. 

Beaumarchais. Don’t thank me, Doctor Frank¬ 
lin, congratulate me. 

Franklin’s face lights with understanding as 
he takes his hand. The doors at the back are 
thrown open, showing a portion of the Grande 
Salle in the rear. Madame Helvetius enters fol¬ 
lowed by Madame de Chaumont, Sally Frank¬ 
lin, Chaumont, Morellet and others.) 

Madame Helvetius. Dr. Franklin, behold in 
me a prophet! You have risen up and your ene¬ 
mies are scattered. 

Franklin. My enemies? Rather my country’s 
enemies! I have enemies as an American—as an 
envoy—but I thank God there are not any in the 
whole wide world who are my enemies as a man. 

Madame Helvetius. Sir, in the name of all 
French ladies, I salute The Friend of Man. (She 
kisses him on both cheeks.) 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 


107 


Madame de Chaumont. I salute the diplomat, 
who produces a victory just when he needs one. 
(She courtesies low.) 

Franklin. Ah, Madame, that was not diplo¬ 
macy ; that was luck. 

Beaumarchais. I salute the diplomat who forced 
the British minister to acknowledge himself beaten. 

Franklin. That was not diplomacy—for he did 
not acknowledge it. 

Madame Helvetius. The queen will receive 
you; come, monsieur. 

Beaumarchais (throwing up his hands). A 
presentation—and no court suit! 

Franklin {quickly). That is diplomacy. 

Lee enters, magnificently attired. 

Madame Helvetius. La, there comes Mr. Lee! 
{Beckons him.) Monsieur, ecoute! I’ve added one 
more verse in Franklin’s honor. {She sings.) 

“Now America regains 
Liberty, and breaks her chains; 

And this great work of our age, 

A fresh exploit of our sage, 

Has finished been 
By Louis and Benjamin.” 

She removes the wreath of roses from her hair 
and tries to crown Franklin ; he ducks. 


The End 



I 


Coming Down The mount 

“How many observe Christ’s birthday, 
how few his precepts! Oh, it is easier to 
keep holidays than commandments!” 

B. Franklin. 


109 


To 

MARTIN FISCHER 

“Thinker!” 


110 


THE CHARACTERS 


Jesus does not appear in this play, but if his pres¬ 
ence is not felt, up on the mountain, behind the gate 
of the temple, on the hill of Golgotha, the play is 
a failure. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. 

A Young Man. 

Three other Pharisees of Jerusalem. 

Mary of Magdala. 

Salome. 

Caiaphas, High Priest of Israel. 

Annas, his father-in-law. 

Nathanael, another priest. 

Pontius Pilate, Governor of Jerusalem. 

His pages. 

His soldiers. 

His wife. 

The Blind man. 

The people. 

The people may, in their time, play many parts. 
Thus, the people who stream down the mount in 
ACT I, may represent those who go up for healing 
in ACT II, the mob which shouts “Crucify him!” in 
ACT III, and the ordinary citizen of Jerusalem in 
ACT IV. 


Ill 


ACT I ACT II ACT III ACT IV 

A fisherman.Old man (Group I) . The mob. Citizens 


His wife, Susannah.Mother of Blind 

Child.Servant 

Another fisherman. .Money changer.Peter 

A Third fisherman. .Money changer.John 

A small boy.Blind child. 

Another small boy..(Group I). 

A shepherd.Fruit vender.... 

Another shepherd.. .Wine vender. 4 . 

A rich merchant... .Dove seller. 

A poor woman.Mother... 

Her child.Child Afflicted by 

devils. 

Man-who-swears... (Group I)..-. 

His wife.(Group I). 

Johnny. Child 

Sarah.. 

Zacharias. 

Peter. 

A lad.Lame boy. 

Another lad.His comrade.. 

ACT I. The mountain side, on the shore of 
Galilee. 

ACT II. The stairs, leading up to the temple 
of Jerusalem. 

ACT III. The hall of Pilate’s dwelling. The 

MORNING BEFORE THE FEAST OF THE 

Passover, and the same about the 

NINTH HOUR. 

ACT IV. A street in Jerusalem before the 

HOUSE OF CAIAPHAS. The FIRST DAY 
OF THE WEEK, EARLY MORNING. 

(Where brackets are used about the closing 
words of a sentence, this is to indicate that at this 
point the following speaker interrupts, though the 
original speaker continues to the end.) 


112 




























COMING DOWN THE 
MOUNT 

ACT I 

The people are descending the hill after listening 
to the Sermon on the Mount. They enter from the 
heights on the left, descend a few steps and cross to 
the extreme right, descend again, and, advancing 
toward the center, take the last few steps to rock 
level. From thence, they pass out to the right. The 
dun-colored, rocky slope is backed by a noon-time 
sky of brilliant blue. 

Enter Joseph of Arimathaea and a Young Man 
in deep converse. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Truly, this man Jesus 
speaketh as one with authority, and not as the 
scribes. 

Young Man. His daring is great. He trampleth 
the law of Moses. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. There were priests 
present; did’st note them? Ay, and well-known 
Pharisees of Jerusalem—biting their thin lips! 

Young Man. Mark my words, the sermon of 
Jesus on the mount yonder, will mean his death. 
Prophets have been stoned for less. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. His words yonder will 
mean his eternal life. Those words will never die. 

Young Man. Look you, he is a dreamer. On the 


113 


114 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


earth today, his dream-world wars with the world of 
Caesar; it cannot be. If it could be—this earth were 
heaven. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. He is no dreamer: he 
is a seer of realities, a lover of God and man. 

Young Man. Love—for God and man? Nay! 
God is too far off, and man too near. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Not for him! 

Young man. Sit yonder, my friend, and note the 
people. See how little of heaven is in them. If there 
be ten people among these thousands, who under¬ 
stand his teachings, or are moved to follow, I will 
acknowledge myself wrong. If ten? Nay, if five! 
If one! 

They sit on one side of the slope and observe the 
people. Two small Boys run in playing , followed 
by three Fishermen and Susannah. 

First Fisherman. Truly a mar-velous discourse 
of the master’s! It passeth my understanding how 
anyone can listen to such a sermon and still—( With 
a side glance at his wife , Susannah.)— be selfish! 

Susannah (unmoved). Or— self-righteous! 

First Little Boy (tp Second Little Boy). 
Feel my muscle! Gee, I could lick thee easy! 

Second Little Boy (to First Little Boy). 
Thou could’st not! I can lick all the boys in our 
village. 

First Fisherman. Tut! Tut! Thou heardest the 
master? Blessed be the meek! 

Second Little Boy. I won’t be meek! I won’t! 
I won’t! I won't! I hate meekness. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 115 


First Little Boy {casually). Meekness is for 
cowards. 

Fishermen. Oh! Oh! 

First Fisherman. Is he—the master—a coward? 

First Little Boy. N —no-o! But I would be, if 
I didn’t lick the boys when they attacked me. 

Come, Pete, I’ll race thee. ( The Boys run off.) 

First Fisherman ( laughing gently). The little 
beggar’s right. Boys will never be manly until they 
learn to use their fists. 

Second and Third Fishermen. Ay, ay, the 
child’s right. 

First Fisherman’s Wife (Susannah). To be 
“manly”—being the master’s ideal? 

First Fisherman. Be silent, woman! 

Second Fisherman. Still, it was a wonderful 
sermon. Did’st mark what he said about the Phari¬ 
sees? 

Third Fisherman. Ha, ha! They caught it, 
surely! The way they give alms to be seen of men! 

Second Fisherman. Ay, and pray standing in 
the market-place! 

Third Fisherman. Hypocrites that they are, 
they shall surely perish. 

Susannah. Are you their judge? If my ears 
did not deceive me, the master said, Judge not! 

Third Fisherman. Woman, thou art a fool! 

Susannah. Thou—thou callest me “fool”? And 
thou—what art thou . . . ? 


116 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


First Fisherman. Peace, woman! 

Susannah. Hark now to him ! He would fain 
be peacemaker! But peacemakers don’t inherit the 
earth, you know; they only get called names. ( She 
hits him.) Or cast into prison—( Hits him.) —or 
get persecuted for righteousness’ sake. ( She hits 
him a third time.) Now—turn the other cheek—if 
you dare! 

First Fisherman, holding his hands to his 
cheeks, hastens out. 

Second and Third Fishermen. Ha, ha, ha! 

Second Fisherman. But you know—all that 
about turning the other cheek was stark lunacy. 

Third Fisherman. Ay! It’s not in nature. The 
man’s mad. 

Second Fisherman. No self-respecting person 
would turn the other cheek. 

Third Fisherman. I quite agree. 

Susannah. It was a good sermon, eh, my mas¬ 
ters?-but not quite—er—practicable. 

Second Fisherman. Yea, yea, a good sermon! 

Third Fisherman ( speaking simultaneously 
with Second Fisherman). Quite a good sermon! 

They pass out. 

Enter Two Shepherds, a Rich Merchant and a 
Poor Woman and her Children. 

First Shepherd. What I liked best of the whole 
talk was the way he give it to the Pharisees. 

Second Shepherd. One of them was there. Did 



COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 117 


ye see his face? I had to chuckle when the master 
said, men should not give as the hypocrites do, to 
be seen of men. 

First Shepherd. He knew whom the master 
meant, all right, all right. 

Merchant ( nodding fatly ). Ay, ay! I’ve always 
maintained, when ye give alms, ye should do it in 
secret—[not to be seen of men.] 

Poor Woman. But not in secrecy like thine! 

Merchant ( turning on her ). Eh? 

Poor Woman. No one hath ever seen thee give 
a penny. 

Merchant (surveying her with a scathing glance , 
turns to the shepherds ) . Look you, my friends, is 
this not the woman who, a short time since, stole 
bread from the baker? 

Poor Woman. For my little ones! 

And who art thou to condemn me—thou that 
lendest on usury ! The master said, “Give unto him 
that asketh!” 

Merchant. A dangerous doctrine! Possible 
only [to one who had no possessions!] 

Poor Woman. “Lay not up for yourselves trea¬ 
sures on earth!” 

Merchant. My children then would starve, [even 
as yours.] 

Poor Woman. And “Take no thought for the 
morrow!” 

First Shepherd. Fancy a world doing that! No 
thought for the morrow! No catching of fish! No 


118 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


baking of bread! No patching of old clothes! No 
fashioning new! 

Second Shepherd. If manna fell! 

First Shepherd. If manna fell! And if our 
clothes waxed not old—as in Moses* day! 

Merchant. This man is a dreamer. He should 
have lived in the days when God was nearer to his 
people. 

Poor Woman. Maybe—he seeks to lead his peo¬ 
ple—nearer to God. 

Merchant. Humph! ( He passes out.) 

First Shepherd (following). But it was a clev¬ 
er sermon just the same. It did me good to hear 
him scorn the Pharisees; they are so self-righteous. 

All pass out. 

Enter the Man-Who-Swears followed by his 
Wife. 

Man-Who-Swears. I liked most of the sermon, 
but what he said about swearing gets me. I never 
thought swearing was so evil. I can’t help thinking 
he was a leetle hard on those who swear. 

His Wife. You think all of your habits are all 
right because they’re yours, but I can tell you he 
was just as hard on swearers as on murderers, and if 
you don’t watch out . . . 

Man-Who-Swears (soothingly). There—there! 

His Wife (angrily). Oh it’s always “There! 
There!” with you. I’m about tired of your constant 
swearing. It’s a nasty habit and the master was 
quite right to condemn it. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


119 


Man-Who-Swears {drawling). Don’t be so 
angry . . . 

His Wife. Angry? You’re enough to [make 
anybody . . .] 

Man-Who-Swears {grinning). “For whoso is 
angry with his brother shall be in danger of the 
judgment.” 

His Wife. “Without a cause,” the master said, 
“without a cause!” 

Man-Who-Swears. I didn’t hear him say 
“without a cause.” 

His Wife. Well, he said it, and you’re sufficient 
cause, goodness knows ! {She flounces out.) 

Man-Who-Swears {following). Well, anyway, 
I’m not a hypocrite—like the Pharisees. 

Enter a small boy, Johnny, crying. He is fol¬ 
lowed by Sarah, Zacharias, and Peter. 

Sarah {calls to him). Wait, Johnny, wait! 

Zacharias {busy whittling a stick, taunts). Go 
home, cry-baby! Cry-baby! 

Johnny {turning indignantly). I ain’t a cry¬ 
baby, an’ I ain’t a bully. 

Peter {grinning) . That’s one for you, master 
Zacharias. 

Johnny {nursing his grievance). I was just walk¬ 
in’ along, an’ he came and punched me, he punched 
me in the eye and made it water. 

Zacharias. Run along home to mother and tell 
her all about it. 


120 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Johnny (with manly dignity). I ain’t a tell-tale. 

Sarah. Of course he isn’t. ( To Zacharias.) 
Aren’t you ashamed to tease him. ( She runs for¬ 
ward and puts her arms about Johnny.) Zach’s 
sorry he hit you, dearest, aren’t you, Zach? 

Zacharias. No, I ain’t! 

Johnny. No, he ain’t! 

(They speak simultaneously.) 

Sarah ( hopefully ). Well—he will be sorry. 

Zacharias ( taking a determined stand). Now, 
look here! I know your game. You’re trying to be 
peace-maker, and I won’t stand for it. 

Johnny. We don’t want any goody-goodies at 
our house. 

Zacharias. When we want to fight, Johnny and 
me’ll fight all we want to, won’t we, Johnny? 

Johnny. You bet we will! 

Zacharias (to Johnny). Come along with me 
and I’ll show you a bird’s nest. 

Zacharias, Johnny and Peter start off to¬ 
gether. Zacharias casts a cautious glance behind 
to see if Sarah is observing them, but she has her 
head crooked in her arm, weeping. 

Zacharias (in a low voice to Johnny). I didn’t 
really hurt you, did I ? 

Johnny (manfully). Of course not! I was just 
fooling. 

Zacharias. You run along; I’ll follow in a 
minute. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 121 


Johnny and Peter pass out. Zacharias goes 
back to Sarah. 

Zacharias. Come along, Sarah. You can play 
“peace-makers” if you like, but I reckon you’ll have 
to play it alone. Johnny and me, we like scraps. 

Sarah smiles a trifle tearfully and they qo off 
together. 

Enter Mary of Magdala and Salome. 

Mary of Magdala. Sawest thou, Salome, the 
angels, like a cloud about him? And devils arose 
out of the earth—a black swarm. And they 
fought . . . 

Salome. I saw naught; only I heard his words. 
These are the angels of thy imagining, but the 
devils ? They are in thy heart, Mary—Mary . . . 

Mary of Magdala (dreamily) . The devils are 
in all our hearts. I heard not his words; I saw only 
the devils fighting—and the angels. And the devils 
prevailed; yea, they carried him away to the bot¬ 
tomless pit. . . . ( Her voice sinks with horror.) 

Salome. Mary of Magdala, come thou to the 
master! He will heal thee. He will cast out the 
devils that afflict. 

Mary of Magdala ( shaking her head and smil¬ 
ing). There’s one little devil that laughs and one 
that cries, and one which chills me with fear, and 
one which makes me mad with mirth—but the devils 
twain it is which whisper in my ear, How oft hast 
thou sought healing? Oft and oft again? Thou 
hast sought healing all in vain—in vain! 

Salome ( placing a hand on her shoulder). Not 
in vain! Turn, Mary! 


122 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Mary of Magdala turns, gives Salome a long 
steady look; then, with the gesture of one who 
brushes away a cloud of poisonous gnats, she turns 
and ascends the mountain. Salome follows. 

Enter two Pharisees. 

First Pharisee ( violently ). Cattle! Sheep! 

Second Pharisee. For the moment they follow! 
They see his miracles; they are fed; they are healed. 
What do they understand? 

First Pharisee. Nothing! 

Second Pharisee. Take this sermon. What 
does he praise? Humility! Renunciation! What 
does he condemn? Property! War! Violence, 
which is the way man acquires and retains property. 

First Pharisee {simply). Why, God gave prop¬ 
erty when he said, Spoil the Egyptians! 

Second Pharisee {impatiently) . Oh cease these 
old wives’ tales! God gave property when he put 
the acquisitive instinct in man. Hath not Mother 
Eve always craved the fruit of another’s tree? 

First Pharisee. Old wives’ tales? . . . 
Humph! 

Second Pharisee {promptly). Truest tale ever 
told! Man’s desire to possess is ingrain . . . 

First Pharisee. And leads— out of Paradise! 

Second Pharisee. Chut! Man’s paradise is 
possession; his hell, poverty. The teaching of Jesus 
threatens our appetites. Now Moses’ law took into 
account man’s passions, but this man goeth counter 
to the law of Moses 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 123 


First Pharisee. If the people knew it—they 
would stone him with many stones. 

Second Pharisee. If the people knew? . . . 
The people shall know! Passover week, when all 
flock to Jerusalem. . . . ( They eye one another in¬ 
telligently.) Until then, gather ye his words; they 
shall be stones to stone him. (They pass out.) 

(Enter two Lads.) 

First Lad. I’d like to follow the master, but 
my mother won’t let me. 

Second Lad. Run away. She’d forgive you. 

First Lad. No, she wouldn’t. And how can 
you be reconciled with another, if the other won’t 
be reconciled with you? (Sighs.) It’s very difficult. 

Second Lad (peering downward). There come 
some people back. I did not know the master would 
speak again. 

The people who liad gone down the mountain are 
returning. Enter the Fishermen, the Merchant, 
the Man-Who-Swears, the Shepherds. 

First Fisherman (instead of ascending, turns 
to the left). Hark’ee, my friends, I’m going home. 
Seems strangely as though we sat under a spell, 
there on the mountain-side, and saw things not as 
they are, for in this world it is the proud and 
haughty who go first. . . . 

Man-Who-Swears. And cursed are the peace¬ 
makers ! 

Second Fisherman. To me it seems only good 
sense to hate your enemy. 

Merchant. Just think of it! To give to him 
who asks! ’Twould beggar all. 


124 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Third Fisherman. To turn the other cheek is 
want of wit; to love your enemy—merest pretence! 

First Lad ( surveys them, then deliberately calls). 
Swine! 

All ( turning their faces up to him). Eh? 

First Lad. I say the master’s teachings are 
divine, but he hath cast his pearls among you swine! 

Man-Who-Swears. Swine? Swine, say you? 
(He lurches at the lad.) 

All Shout (confusedly). Cast him down! Cast 
him down! A pretty follower of the master, he! 
Cast him out! Cast him over the mountain! ( All 
advance on him. His comrade springs to his de¬ 
fence, and all go swaying and jostling down the 
mountain.) 

Joseph of Arimathaea and the Young Man rise 
and advance. 

Young Man. You see? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. I see. We are of 
earth; he is of heaven- 

Young Man. What shall bridge the gulf? Tell 
me, Joseph of Arimathaea, how may a man of earth 
win salvation? I would be saved—saved- 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Ask him. 

Young Man. I have ever kept the law of Moses: 
Love God; do violence to no man, neither be false 
accuser. . . . 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Yet he saith, Thou shalt 
love God with thy whole heart and soul and strength 
. . . and thy neighbour as thyself. 




COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 125 


Young Man. And dost thou so? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. I do not! Who doth? 

There is silence for a few seconds; then both, as 
though moved by a common inpulse, look up the 
hillside and say, The Master! 

From the hilltop comes a distant cry of Hosanna!! 
which is re-echoed from below. Those who had dis¬ 
appeared struggling, now reappear, waving branches 
and shouting, Hosanna! Hosanna to the son of 
David! 


ACT II 

The ascent to the temple of Jerusalem. 

The flight of steps leading up to the temple of 
Jerusalem ends in an arched door, before which 
hangs a heavily embroidered curtain. Halfway up 
the steps is a landing, on the right side of which sits 
the Blind Man with his bowl. At the base of the 
steps, across the front, rise pillars, forming a sort of 
shady cloister. The pilgrims, seeking healing, enter 
from the right, between the cloister and the steps, 
and mount the steps toward the temple. The steps 
are in brilliant sunshine. 

Three Pharisees are standing in deep converse 
on the left side of the cloister. 

From within the temple comes a cry of many 
voices, heard faintly. Hosanna! Hosanna to the son 
of David! 

The curtain to the temple door swings aside, and 
the Young Man appears. He descends the steps 
heavily, and with downcast head. The Pharisees 
turn and observe him with curious intentness. 


126 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Second Pharisee. Hath he been up to be healed? 
Not so sorrowfully do men come down who have 
been up for healing, but leaping and praising God, 
as though, indeed, they were well. 

Third Pharisee. Are they not then healed? 

Second Pharisee. Are they? ( They eye one 
another.) 

First Pharisee. As for me, I have examined 
his system by which he heals, and I can find nothing 
in it, nothing! 

As the Young Man approaches them, the Third 
Pharisee takes a step toward him. 

Third Pharisee. Young man, attend! Hath 
the prophet of Nazareth no healing for thee? ( The 
Young Man makes a gesture of impatience and 
would pass on, but the Third Pharisee places a 
restraining hand upon his shoulder.) If yon Gali¬ 
lean hath failed thee, hath not Israel priests? 

Young Man. In Israel’s priesthood, is there 
salvation? I would be saved—saved! I went up. 
I asked the master whence cometh salvation. He 
said . . . 

Third Pharisee. He said . . . ? 

Young Man. He said, Thou knowest the com¬ 
mandments, Do not kill, Do not steal, Honor thy 
father and mother. I said, Master, all these things 
have I observed from my youth up. He said . . . 

First Pharisee ( nodding approvingly). Ex¬ 
cellent young man! 

Second Pharisee ( coming closer). Well? Well? 

Young Man (raises his head and stares at him 
with a slight hostility) . What is it to thee ? 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 127 


Second Pharisee (paternally). We would serve 
thee. 

Young Man. He said, One thing thou lack- 
est yet: sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the 
poor,—and come, follow me. 

There is a pause. The Third Pharisee regards 
him curiously. 

Third Pharisee. And thou goest now to sell— 
and give ? 

Young Man (wrenching his arm violently away). 
Let me go! Let me go! (He passes hastily out to 
the right.) 

The Pharisees eye one another with apprehen¬ 
sion. 

The cries of the Venders are heard approaching. 

Wine Vender (without). Honey of wine! 
Honey [of wine!] 

Fruit Vender (without). Pomegranates! Figs! 
Figs from Damascus ! Dates of Samarcand ! 

Second Pharisee. I tell thee, this man and 
society cannot exist together. 

Third Pharisee. Tut! Men go up gladly for 
healing, but they put far away from them his teach^ 
ing. Yea, from his teaching they turn away sor¬ 
rowful, they that have great possessions. 

The voices of the Pilgrims are heard without. 

One Pilgrim (calls). This way! He is in the 
temple court yonder, healing. 

First Pharisee (to other Pharisees). Come, 


128 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


let us seek out the priests, Annas, and Caiaphas, and 
accuse him. ( They go up into the temple.) 

Enter the Pilgrims, seeking healing, accompanied 
by the Venders, who press their wares. 

Fruit Vender. Grapes of En-Gedi! Figs, ripe 
figs from Damascus! Who’ll buy? Who’ll buy? 

Wine Vender. Honey of wine! Honey of wine! 

The People mount the steps, paying no heed. 

An Old Man. Blessed, blessed day! Blessed 
are our eyes that see! Blessed are our ears that 
hear ! Day seen in dreams by prophets of old! And 
in that day shall the deaf hear the words of the 
book, and the eyes of the blind shall see out of 
obscurity and out of darkness! ( All join in.) The 
meek also shall increase their joy in the Lord, and 
the poor among men shall rejoice in the Holy One 
of Israel! ( They pass into the temple shouting.) 
Hosanna! Blessed be he that cometh in the name 
of the Lord! 

The Venders shrug and seat themselves upon 
the steps, placing their wares beside them. They 
toss coins. 

Wine Vender (as he throws). Fools! I wager 
thee a penny they come down, even as they ascend, 
yet believe themselves healed. 

Fruit Vender (throwing). We— 11,-to be- 

lieve, is it not to be ? 

Wine Vender (tartly). To believe oneself a 
Solomon, is it to be one ? 

Enter the Dove-Seller, crying his wares. 

Dove Seller. Doves for the temple! Doves! 
Very cheap! Very cheap! Doves for the sacrifice! 



COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 129 


Wine Vender. Hey, master Seller-of-doves-for- 
the-temple, thou’lt sell no doves this day! 

Dove Seller. Not sell doves? {Promptly.) 

Ye lie! (He ascends steps.) 

Wine Vender {calls after him with a grin). 
Men are gone up, not for sacrifice, but for healing. 

Dove Seller {on top step, turns). Healing? 
Bah! {He spits, and disappears within the temple.) 

Blind Man {tremulously). Healing? Healing? 

Wine Vender. Chut, old man, content thee! 
Thine eyes are dead—dead. They won’t be healed 
this side of kingdom come. 

Blind Man. Eh? 

Wine Vender. God meant thee to be blind, else 
he had made thee see. 

Fruit Vender. Thou’rt very sure. And did 
God also give thee a red nose, or is it the fault of 
the wine shop? 

Wine Vender ( rising, outraged). Thou sayest 
I drink? {They scuffle, falling against the Blind 
Man. The Wine Vender falls atop, and pommels 
the other, shouting) Do I drink? Do I? Do I? 

Fruit Vender {sputtering). Of course! By all 
means! Certainly! Thou’rt a man of sense! 

Wine Vender {suddenly releasing him and ris¬ 
ing). Most certainly I do. But a red nose? That 
cometh from eating sour grapes—like thine. {Both 
men grin comfortably.) 

Enter a Woman and a Blind Child. The 
Child drags a bit and the Mother stoops over him 
caressingly. 


130 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Woman. Courage! When he hath touched thee, 
thou shalt be whole, for he maketh the lame to walk 
and the deaf to hear and the blind to see. 

Blind Man ( struggling to rise). The blind— 
to see? 

Woman ( stooping and lifting the child). Thou 
shalt touch but the hem of his garment. ( She 
swiftly ascends.) 

Blind Man (calls). Woman, woman, assist me! 
I too would see! (But the woman has already 
passed into the temple.) 

Wine Vender (to Blind Man). Hark’ee, fel¬ 
low, thou hast a snug seat here by the temple stair, 
and much alms. I counsel thee, do not leave it to 
go chasing after this—er—person, who boasteth no 
possessions. 

Blind Man (murmurs) . If he gives — if he gives 
—me light. . . . 

Fruit Vender (good-naturedly assisting the 
Blind Man to rise). Tut, old one, I’ll lead thee. I 
too have a curiosity. . . . 

Wine Vender. Pah! I’d as soon see the devil! 

Fruit Vender. Eh? Thank God I have an open 
mind! 

The Priests, Annas, Caiaphas, Nathanael, 
and the Pharisees issue from the temple, with dis¬ 
taste writ large upon their countenances, and 
descend. 

Wine Vender. The open mind? Tch! ’Tis a 
door wide open for devils to enter in. 

Fruit Vender. In the likeness of thy imagin- 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 131 


ings ? Click, goes the door! Thou shalt not enter, 
foul fiend, I defy thee! ( He grins.) 

Blind Man ( timidly ). But—no one could do 
the miracles—he doeth, except God were with him. 

First Pharisee ( who by now is abreast of the 
Blind Ban). Chut! He doeth them by Beelze¬ 
bub. 

Fruit Vender ( turns to him and others). Mas¬ 
ters of Israel, is not the prophet yonder—man of 
God? 

First Pharisee. Thou art his disciple? 

Fruit Vender. Not I! But I have an open 
mind. 

Third Pharisee. An open mind! Thou rarest 
thing in this universe of God’s creating! An open 
mind! Why, man, thou’rt more of a curiosity than 
him yonder. An open mind! ( He goes off into 
gales of laughter.) 

Fruit Vender ( stands uncomfortably shifting 
from one foot to another, but doggedly holds his 
ground). I asked, be he of God or no? 

Annas. An open mind? Good! Judge then by 
his fruits if this man be of God. Taste the fruit 
of his doctrine; then swallow or spue it forth! 

Fruit Vender. Give me to taste, master! 

Annas. Go —fall on his neck and call a Samari¬ 
tan, brother! 

Fruit Vender. A Samaritan—brother! Curses 
on him! I will call all the world brother, only not 
a Samaritan! 

Annas. Humph! Spue it forth and taste again. 


132 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Take thy hard-won earnings and share with the 
nearest beggar! 

Wine Vender. Ha, ha! A good jest, master! 

Caiaphas ( wheeling on him). No jest at all—as 
thou shalt see if thou swallow this man’s teaching. 
(He turns to the Fruit Vender.) How tastes it, 
fellow? 

Fruit Vender. But—but—ye mean- 

Annas. I mean, he would have all share and 
share alike, and no man richer than his fellow. 

Fruit Vender (bewildered). But—by the mor¬ 
row, some would ha’ spent, and some would ha’ 
gained, and all would be as aforetime. 

Caiaphas. Then—try it! 

Annas. In short, this man, Jesus, would over¬ 
turn our world. Charity, beautiful charity, would 
be no more. Why, this poor blind man, I could 
not give him alms. 

Fruit Vender. Not give—alms? 

Annas. No, for he would fare sumptuously upon 
thy earnings. 

Wine Vender (in righteous indignation). If 
these be his doctrines, then I say, for the good of 
the state, he should be put away. Why, masters, 
he is stirring up the common people,—them with 
open minds! (With a sly glance toward the Fruit 
Vender.) 

Caiaphas. But, if we accuse him, will not the— 
er- (With a humorous glance at the Wine Ven¬ 

der.) —common people protect him? 

Wine Vender. The people? Pah! (He spits.) 




COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 133 


Nathanael. But his disciples? 

Wine Vender. Will save themselves. 

Annas. But the folk whom he hath healed? 

Caiaphas. Where are the folk whom he hath 
healed? Show me one! 

Fruit Vender (courageously) . My brother’s 
son, he was a leper, and this man healed him. 

Caiaphas. Bah ! I do not believe it. 

Fruit Vender (eagerly). But it is so, sir! I saw 
it myself that he is clean. 

Caiaphas. Then he never was a leper. (He, 
with the other Priests descend toward the left of 
the cloister.) 

First Pharisee (to Fruit Vender). Hark’ee, 
man, let not thy tongue wag too freely lest we hold 
thee his disciple. Would’st thou be anathema and 
outcast of Jewry? (He and the other Pharisees 
join the Priests.) 

The Fruit Vender shrinks slightly back and the 
Blind Man is left standing alone. 

A Child runs suddenly out of the temple. He 
is followed by his Mother, and, more slowly, by 
Mary of Magdala. 

Child (as he runs). Let me away! Away! 

The Mother (catching him up at the foot of 
the steps). Child, child, calm thee! 

Mary of Magdala (descending toward them and 
speaking compassionately). Be of good cheer! 


134 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Devils afflicted also me, but he drave them from me. 
He looked at me, and at his look I felt virtue 
descending upon me. 

Child ( regarding her with hostile eyes). I will 
not have this man of God take them and drive them 
out! Poor little devils! 

Mary of Magdala ( kneeling beside him). See, 
little one, since the devils have gone forth, I have 
seen angels, always angels, clothed in white. . . . 

A pause. The Child regards her, then speaks 
suddenly. 

Child. Angels? Show me angels. ( He puts 
his hand in hers.) 

Mary of Magdala. Come then! ( They mount 
the stairs slowly, the child one step at a time. The 
Mother follows with a psalm of thanksgiving in 
her face.) 

As they mount the Lame Boy enters, with an¬ 
other Boy. 

The Boy ( assisting). Patience! A few steps 
more and thou shalt see him, and he shall heal thee. 

Lame Boy. Not me! Not me! I have been 
lame since my mother bore me. 

The Other Boy {gently). But when Messias 
cometh, he shall do all things. Then shall the lame 
man leap as the hart and the tongue of the dumb 
sing! 

Lame Boy {with a catch in his breath). But not 
me! Never me! {They pass into the temple.) 

Blind Man. Messias! Is Messias come . . . 
to open the blind eyes, to bring the prisoners out of 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 135 


prison, and them that sit in darkness out of the 
prison house? 

Mary of Magdala ( turns and looks down on 
him, and speaks softly). The people that sit in 
darkness have seen a great light; unto them that 
sit in the valley of the shadow of death, unto them 
hath the light shined! 

Blind Man. The people—that sit in darkness— 
have seen—A GREAT LIGHT! (He turns and 
stumbles up the steps into the temple.) 

First Pharisee (with a short laugh). Messias 
—he—man of the people, stained with the dust of 
the road-side! 

Mary of Magdala. And what go men up for 
to see? A man, clothed in soft raiment? Such sit 
in king’s palaces. 

Second Pharisee. And do ye not make him 
king, him whom ye hail “David’s son?” Who rideth 
royally into Jerusalem upon an ass, and crowned 
with . . . 

Mary of Magdala. The people’s praise? 

Nay! When he of Nazareth is King of the Jews, 
then shall the heavens be darkened and the earth 
lose her light. . . . 

All (craning forward). Eh? 

Mary of Magdala (scornfully). Thinkest thou 
the Lord of heaven cometh down for earthly glory ? 

Caiaphas. The Lord of heaven ! . . .Woman, 

whom holdest thou him to be? 

Mary of Magdala. He is the Christ, the son 
of the living God! 


136 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Nathanael. But this is blasphemy! Woman, 
thou shalt testify before the Sanhedrim! 

Mary of Magdala. Yea, I shall testify . . . 
according to the sight of mine eyes and the hearing 
of mine ears, . . . and my witness shall stand, 
and all the powers of death and hell shall not pre¬ 
vail against it! ( She turns and enters the temple, 
with the Woman and her Child.) 

First Pharisee (in awed tones). The Christ 
. . . son of the living God! 

O Annas, shall not this suffice? Shall not this 
rouse the people? Hear, O Israel, the Lord our 
God is one God! [Thou shalt have].... 

Annas (coldly). Thou fool! This is not Moses’ 
day, when God’s oneness was in the heart of all 
Israel, when God’s wrath visibly smote the people. 
This is not Sinai, where men rose and slew each 
man his brother who bowed to the golden image. 
This is today. 

Today men slay only in defence of the golden 
image, stamped with Caesar’s sign and superscrip¬ 
tion. 

Touch a man’s gold; this only shall suffice to 
rouse the people. 

Nathanael. And doth he not? I tell thee he 
soweth seed shall grow a revolution in men’s hearts, 
the revolution of the world’s possessions. Because of 
his word, the poor shall be rich and the rich, poor. 

Annas (shaking his head). I doubt me . . . 
soil’s not fertile. 

Third Pharisee. But is not such seed-sowing 
sedition against Caesar, emperor beloved of Israel? 

Annas. It toucheth not Caesar. 

When revolution ariseth with swords and staves! 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


137 


When revolution affecteth Caesar’s taxes! Until 
then, Caesar will smile. 

First Pharisee. But doth it not touch Caesar 
that men hail this Galilean “king” with mad ho¬ 
sannas ? 

Annas. It toucheth not Caesar. 

Men may shout themselves hoarse in Jerusalem, 
but so long as his taxes are gathered safe to Caesar, 
Caesar will smile. 

Second Pharisee. But—if the tax were threa¬ 
tened ? 

Annas {grimly). We may say prayers. 

Second Pharisee. If the tax were threatened— 
and if we brought the offender unto Caesar . . . ? 

All turn to him with interest. 

Annas. If! ! 

Second Pharisee. Shall he who plays David’s 
son to the people pay tax to imperial Rome? That 
were to deny his kingship. Dare he pay? 

Annas. Dare he refuse? 

First Pharisee. Go up ard ask him—before all 
the people . . . ! 

Third Pharisee. But be wary! I doubt me 
he will see through thee, for he hath wit. God of 
Israel, his wit is admirable! 

Second Pharisee (to Third Pharisee). Come 
thou with me! (They two mount and enter into the 
temple.) 

Nathanael. Hark ye, Annas, what need of 


138 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


further witness—merely to put away a man of the 
people? Hath not the Sanhedrim passed sentence? 

Annas. Rome is master. An offence against 
the law signifieth nothing; Rome stirreth only at 
offence against Rome. Therefore must we arouse 
the people and force the hand of Caesar. 

Nathanael. Rouse the people? Ye wait for 
that? Good-day! (He turns as if to go, and flings 
back over his shoulder.) The people crowd up to 
him for healing for all the world like sheep to a 
fat pasture. 

First Pharisee (nodding). Like sheep! 

Caiaphas. Yet a time cometh when this so-called 
shepherd will leave the pasture lands of healing, 
and mount to the arid heights. Then will the peo¬ 
ple follow? Then will their mad hosannas change 
to cries of “Crucify him!” 

The hangings before the temple door swing vio¬ 
lently apart, and the Dove Seller appears between 
them. As he appears, doves issue and fly away. 
He casts the empty cages furiously before him. 

Dove Seller (cries). Requite him, O God of 
Israel! Gather stones, O Israel! Stones, stones, O 
ye men of Judaea! Gather stones to stone him! 

The Money Changers appear behind him. 

First Money Changer. Thou fool! Pocket 
thy losses and go home to dinner! Naught may 
we do against a multitude. 

Dove Seller (shrilly). Pocket my losses? 
Never! Shall this be allowed? Shall he drive all 
trade from the temple? I shall appeal to the priests 
who fatten upon it. Where shall their profits [be 
if . . .] 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


139 


First Money Changer ( nudging him). Shh! 
There they stand! 

Dove Seller. I care not a whit! I stand upon 
my rights. Shall a nobody out of Galilee frown me 
from the temple of my fathers ? Have we not sold 
doves for the sacrifice from generation to genera¬ 
tion? Do I not pay well for the privilege? Who 
is he to dispute it? ( He descends as he speaks and 
eyes Caiaphas belligerently.) 

Caiaphas. Thou sayest well. No one may drive 
thee forth. Return thou! 

Dove Seller (exasperated) . But he hath done 
so! 

Nathanael. Eh? 

Dove Seller. He saith, “My father’s house is 
an house of prayer, but ye have made it a den of 
thieves.” Me—thieves ! And then men turned upon 
us and we fled. 

Annas. Ye fled—and wherefore? 

Second Money Changer. For fear! He tow¬ 
ered above us and we became like sheep. Where 
his eye alighteth, men become like sheep. 

Caiaphas. No wonder the Romans lord it over 
us. Poor sheep of the House of Israel. 

First Money Changer ( feeling a lack of sym¬ 
pathy). Nay, master, but he made a whip and drave 
us forth. Also [his followers . . .] 

Dove Seller. A whip? Ay, so he did! A 
whip of many thongs. 

First Money Changer. They fell upon us and 
upset our tables. 


140 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Second Money Changer. Ye lie! 

Dove Seller ( turning on him). It was so, I 
tell ye! Likewise his followers armed themselves 
with staves; yea, they took up stones to stone us! 

Second Money Changer (in an unmoved tone). 
Ye lie! (He descends the steps slowly and thought¬ 
fully.) 

Dove Seller. Go, join his followers, thou that 
kisseth the hand that smites! 

Second Money Changer (still quietly). Ye 
lie! (He passes out.) 

Dove Seller (passionately). Masters, masters, 
who is this man? Is he Herod, King of Jewry? Is 
he Pilate, Governor for Caesar? Is he Caiaphas, 
High priest of Israel? Who is he to lord it over 
God’s temple? 

Annas. Who but God may lord it over God’s 
Temple? 

All (solemnly). Who but God? 

Annas. And what if this be he? (The Venders 
and Money Changers draw away, eyeing him un¬ 
certainly.) Doth he not claim it? . . . to be Mes¬ 
siah ? Son of the one God, he who hath made heav¬ 
en the heaven of heavens, and this the house that 
he hath builded? 

Roars of Anger. Stone him! Gather stones to 
stone him! (They shout it repeatedly.) 

Annas (raising his hand for silence). Hath he 
not said, Destroy this temple and in three days I will 
build it again? 

The people break into confused shouting, crying, 
now alone, now all together. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 141 


First Pharisee. Said he that— [in verity f] 

Fruit Vender. Said he that? Destroy the tem¬ 
ple? Destroy God’s temple? 

Dove Seller. This temple was forty and six 
years in the building, and shall he build it [in three 
days?] 

First Money Changer. Our father’s temple? 
The Holy of Holies? 

Annas. Where he hath builded, may he not 
cast down? Cast out the money changers and the 
doves? Fall down, fall down and worship! Come 
O Israel, bow before the carpenter of Nazareth! Is 
he not the God who led you through Red Sea 
waters, and in the wilderness? Kiss ye the hand 
that smites! 

Venders and Money Changers (cry). Des¬ 
troy him! Stone him! Sacrilege! (They look 
about for stones, seize the bottles of the Wine Ven¬ 
der and rush up the steps.) 

Caiaphas (cries). Hold! (They pause, look¬ 
ing at him over their shoulders.) My father’s house 
is a house of prayer, and would ye make it a scene 
of violence? 

First Money Changer. We go up in the name 
of our God to rouse the people. 

Caiaphas. The people whom he hath healed? 

Annas (maliciously). Hath he then healed them? 

Caiaphas (frowning). Hath he not? 

Annas (steps forth and addresses the people). Go 
not to those yonder! Poor lost sheep of the house 
of Israel! Seeing, they see not; hearing, do not 


142 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


perceive. He blindeth the imagination of their heart 
that they may fall down and worship. 

Go not up to them, go not up into the temple, 
but go through Jerusalem, and say to the people: 
Watch! For this is a thief which cometh to the 
sheepfold for to kill and to destroy. Watch! He 
would rob you of your law: Eye for eye! Tooth for 
tooth! and have ye kiss the hand that smites. He 
would rob you of your king, and seat himself on the 
throne of our father David. He would rob you 
of your God, and give you himself to worship— 
and—he would rob you of your possessions and scat¬ 
ter them broadcast. 

Say unto the people: Be ready! All ye who have 
much and would keep, be ready! All ye who have 
little and would have, be on our side! 

Dove Seller. Ready? When? 

Annas. In the night-time—when yon thronging 
people sleepeth! 

Dove Seller (nods). In the night-time! ( Vir¬ 
tuously ’.) Not ours to desecrate the Temple of our 
God! 

Venders and Money Changers. Not ours to 
desecrate the Temple of God! 

The Priests and the Pharisee depart. The Ven¬ 
ders stoop to gather up their wares. 

The Blind Man appears at the head of the steps, 
groping. The Wine Vender grins at the Fruit 
Vender and jerks his head as much to say, Didn't 
I tell you? 

Fruit Vender (going to the Blind Man’s as¬ 
sistance). Come, old one! Could he not heal thee, 
then? 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 143 


Blind Man. So many thronged him—and now 
he prayeth. He would be alone with God. (The 
other men nod at one another jeeringly. The Blind 
Man continues with undisturbed faith.) 

But when next he cometh to the temple, I shall be 
waiting. Then my old blind eyes shall see, and I 
shall arise. I shall arise and follow and cry, Hosan¬ 
na! Blessed be he that cometh in the name of the 
Lord! 

Wine Vender. When next he cometh! . . . 
La, la! 


ACT III 

The hall of the house of Pontius Pilate. 

This hall opens back on to a terrace, below which 
is an open courtyard. The opening consists of a 
large arched door, and two smaller ones; or the 
smaller doors may be replaced by windows. This 
hall is raised. Thus, Pilate, addressing the people 
in the courtyard, stands well above them, so that they 
are unseen save at the very conclusion of the first 
division of the ACT. The wall may be stone or 
tapestry, painted a neutral color, or decorated in 
Roman design. Against the wall may be painted the 
Roman insignia, S. P. Q. R.; or, cut from brass, and 
mounted on a pole, it may be planted on the terrace. 
Through the door and windows shows a deep blue 
sky, possibly also a view of Jerusalem. 

In the first portion of the ACT the light is mod¬ 
erate, both in back and foreground. 

Two Roman Soldiers are standing on guard, or 
should be. At present, their rear only is seen as they 
crane their bodies to see the approaching mob. 

From the distance comes the dull roar of an angry 
people. 


144 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


First Soldier. There they come—the rabble— 
hounding that mad fellow to his death! Ugh! 

Second Soldier. And a short time since—when 
was it?—that same rabble strawed their garments 
before him, shouting hosannas! 

First Soldier. Exactly five days! Many a 
rabble hath been switched round-about-face in lesser 
time. 

Second Soldier. And will be—long as men let 
priests do their thinking for them. 

First Soldier. Thou godless man! 

Second Soldier. Not I! But I think. 

First Soldier. Ho! 

Second Soldier. I have marked the whispering 
in Jerusalem! Whispers in the ear of this one that 
this Jesus would abolish the law! Whispers in the 
ear of that one, that he would glad be king! 

What matter if they be lies? Much may be done 
by whispering, my master—and gold. 

First Soldier. Thou knowest—eh?—by expe¬ 
rience ? 

Second Soldier. By imagination! 

First Soldier chuckles, and claps the other on 
the hack. 

Second Soldier. But—is it not true . . . ? 

First Soldier. It is true . . .he uttereth wicked 
seditious words. 

Second Soldier. Eh? What? Lies, I’ll war¬ 
rant. . . . 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 145 


First Soldier. I scarce dare utter them. 

Second Soldier. Tell mel 

First Soldier ( pretending to look cautiously 
about). He saith—LOVE YOUR ENEMIES! 

(He draws back a step to observe the effect of his 
zvords .) 

Second Soldier. No!!! 

First Soldier. Also, if any man compel thee to 
give unto him thy cloak, thou render to him thy 
coat also. 

Second Soldier. He was jesting. 

First Soldier (stoutly). Not he! 

Second Soldier. Mad, then! 

First Soldier. Without a doubt! But then, 
all the world’s mad save thee and me, and at times 
I doubt even thee! 

The Second Soldier digs the First in the ribs 
and both stand at attention, as the Priests and 
Pharisees enter from the left. 

Annas (calls). Ho! Within! 

The Pages of Pilate come running from the 
right. 

Annas. Say to the Governor of Judaea that 
priests of Israel request audience. (The Pages go, 
Annas turns to the Third Pharisee.) Go to the 
temple; assemble quickly the money changers and 
sellers of doves; say to them that Jesus of Nazareth 
standeth before Pilate for judgment. 

Third Pharisee. No more, O Annas? 


146 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Annas. No more! Did ye not witness him driv¬ 
ing the money changers from the temple? 

Third Pharisee. I witnessed it not. 

Annas. He said, my father’s house is a house of 
prayer, but ye have made it a den of thieves! And 
then he drave them thence with a scourge of cords. 

Third Pharisee. I doubt the tale. 

Annas. I have it on good authority. 

Third Pharisee. Whose? 

Caiaphas. Their livelihood is threatened if he 
live; you’ll not dispute that! They will hasten to 
witness against him. 

Third Pharisee shrugs and goes. Annas turns 
to the First Pharisee. 

Annas. Go thou to the rabble yonder. Here is 
gold. Bid them cry unto Pilate that he crucify this 
man and release unto them Barabbas. 

First Pharisee. Barabbas—the murderer? 

Annas. Even so! 

First Pharisee. I shall need more gold. 

Annas gives it to him , and he passes out. 

Enter the Pages of Pilate. 

Pages {announce). The Lord Governor comes! 
{They hold aside the curtain for Pilate to enter.) 

Pilate {advancing brusquely toward them). 
What would ye, priests of Israel? 

Caiaphas. Justice on the Nazarene! 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 147 


Pilate ( impatiently ). I have told you . . . 
(He makes an effort to control himself.) What ac¬ 
cusation do ye bring against this innocent man? 

Caiaphas. If he were not a malefactor we would 
not have delivered him up unto thee. 

Pilate. Take ye him and judge him according 
to your law! 

Annas. It is not lawful—we may not put a man 
to death. 

Pilate. And he must die—eh? Naught else 
will content you? 

Annas. He must die. 

Pilate. From all I hear he is a just man, teach¬ 
ing love and gentleness. 

Annas. He is a mad man, stirring revolution. 

Pilate. Revolution? Of what nature? With 
swords and staves ? Obviously not! Men tell me, 
who took him in Gethsemane’s garden, that a fol¬ 
lower out with his sword, and that this Jesus for¬ 
bade, ay and rebuked him. What have ye to fear 
from such a man? 

Annas. To a Roman is force alone fearful? We 
fear his teaching. 

Pilate. And what is his teaching? Long have 
I desired an unbiassed statement. (He folds his 
arms and prepares to listen with great enjoyment.) 

Annas (slowly). Call no man “master!” Give 
to him that asketh! Love your enemies ! 

Pilate. In short—he teacheth human brother¬ 
hood. Beautiful! Beautiful! (The Priests look 


148 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


thoroughly disgusted .) But thoroughly impracti¬ 
cable ! I cannot think his ideas will win following. 
He will number his disciples by tens, not hundreds. 
By tens, did I say? Nay, on the fingers of one 
hand. 

Annas (suavely). I grant you his followers will 
not be the rich, the well-content with things as they 
be: he calleth the poor men from the high-ways and 
by-ways, and biddeth them feast on the banquet 
spread for the mighty. 

Pilate. Ay, but the mighty have swords and 
staves, and will use them—'without scruple. With 
what will these poor gutter-men oppose them? With 
the turning of the other cheek? With a revolt of 
love? 

Second Pharisee. Caesar. . . . 

Pilate. Caesar will not fear love. 

Second Pharisee. Most gracious governor, 
’tis we who fear Caesar. If this man’s words be 
carried unto Caesar, the ruin of our people is as¬ 
sured—and thy ruin, O Pilate, if thou suffer him 
live. 

Pilate. What words ? 

Second Pharisee. We went up to him in the 
midst of the people. We said, Friend, enlighten 
our ignorance. Is it lawful for us to pay tribute 
unto Caesar? And he said, Bring hither a penny! 
Whose is the image and superscription? We an¬ 
swered him, Caesar’s. He said, Render unto Cae¬ 
sar the things that are Caesar's and unto God the 
things that are God’s. 

Pilate. Well—hath any refused tax because of 
this word? 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 149 


Second Pharisee. Nay . . . but . . . 

Pilate. The word is then negligible. 

Second Pharisee. Is it so—to a Roman? To 
a Jew it signifieth the end of the Roman power, 
for to a Jew everything belongeth unto God. 

Pilate. But Caesar will understand that all be¬ 
longeth unto Caesar. 

Caiaphas. But will he? 

Pilate {shortly). Have ye the man? 

Caiaphas. He waiteth under guard. 

Pilate {to the Soldiers). Have him to the 
Judgment hall yonder! {The Soldiers go out, 
back. Pilate turns to the Priests.) Ye alone are 
his accusers; come and confront him. 

Caiaphas. Sir, the people be his accusers. {In¬ 
dicating the courtyard.) 

Pilate steps through the arched door. Instantly 
he is greeted by a cry from the mob. 

People. Hail, Pilate! Plail, Procurator of 
Judaea! 

Pilate. What would ye, people of Jerusalem? 

People. Death ! Death to the Nazarene ! Death ! 
DEATH!! DEATH!!! 

Nathanael {peering out). Now they bring him. 

The Priests and Pharisees crane forward and 
express in pantomime their satisfaction or dismay as 
the scene progresses. 


150 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Pilate. I have examined him and I find no 
fault in him. 

People (shout). Crucify him ! Crucify him! 

Pilate. Wherefore? 

People (shout confusedly). He maketh himself 
as God! 

He’s a [rebel!] 

Despiseth [authority!] 

Maketh himself [as God!] 

[He goeth against the law!] 

He would abolish [sacrifices!] 

He maketh himself as God! 

Pilate. Peace! (He lifts his hand for silence 
and turns to the left as though addressing Jesus, 
who, like the people is unseen.) 

Hearest thou this, Jesus of Nazareth—the many 
things they witness against thee? Be these true? 
(Pause of about ten seconds.) Hast thou no an¬ 
swer? 

Cataphas (brushes by Pilate and speaks ve¬ 
hemently). Thou Jesus of Nazareth, who callest 
thyself Son of God—in the name of the Jewish 
people I call on thee to answer for thy sins! 
(Pause of about twenty seconds. Then Caiaphas 
turns to join others, muttering.) Sullen dog! 

Pilate. Is there none to speak in thy defense? 
Where are the throngs that followed thee into 
Jerusalem not five days since, decking thy way like 
a conqueror? 

Nathanael (cries). Like a king! 

People (shout). Like a King! Like a King! 
He maketh himself king—King of the Jews! 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 151 


Pilate. Art thou a king? 

People (shout). Crucify him! Crucify him! 

Pilate. And shall I crucify your king? 

People. We’ll have no king but Caesar! No 
king but Caesar! 

Pilate. Hearken: This is the time of your 
feast of the Passover, when it is customary for 
Rome to release unto you one prisoner. Shall it 
be this righteous man? 

People (shout). Barabbas! Release unto us 
Barabbas! 

Pilate. Barabbas—the murderer? 

People (shout). Barabbas! Barabbas! 

Pilate. Ye are all mad. Whither of the twain 
will ye that I release unto you? Barabbas—thief? 
Or Jesus—called the Christ? 

People, (shout). Barabbas! We will that ye 
release unto us Barabbas ! 

Above the noise of the people is heard a single 
voice shouting, Jesus the Christ. 

The Priests crane their bodies to discover the 
owner, but he is soon drowned out by repeated 
cries of, Crucify him! Release unto us Barabbas! 

Pilate. Why? What evil hath this man done? 

Dove Seller (mounting before Pilate). O 
my lord, we have a law and by that law he ought 
to die, because he maketh himself Son of God. 

The Page advances and touches Pilate. 

Page. Sir, thy lady! 


152 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Pilate’s Wife enters and advances. He turns 
to her . 

Pilate’s Wife. O my husband, have thou noth¬ 
ing to do with this just man! 

Pilate. What hast thou to do with this ? 

Pilate’s Wife. I have suffered many things 
this day concerning him. I dreamed a dream. . . . 

Caiaphas ( scornfully ). A dream! 

Pilate’s Wife. I dreamed a dream, that from 
this man’s death, if thou consent to it, thou shalt 
nevermore be clean. 

Pilate. ( muses for the space of about thirty 
seconds; then he turns to the people ). Men of 
Judaea, I find no fault with this man. Nevertheless 
I will have him scourged, and then I will let him 
go. I stand for the law of Rome. 

Caiaphas. Thou standest for Caesar! Wilt thou 
let live a man that fostereth rebellion? 

Thou standest for Caesar! Wilt thou let go 
free a man that calleth himself “King of the Jews?” 

Nathanael. Shall it be reported to Caesar 
that Pontius Pilate let Caesar’s foe escape? 

Pilate. I fear ye not! I am Caesar’s friend. 

Caiaphas. If thou set this man free, thou art 
no friend to Caesar. 

There is a pause of about thirty seconds. 

Pilate. Mean ye—revolt will follow, if this 
man die not? 

Caiaphas. {deliberately). We mean—we hold 
it expedient—that this man die for the people. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 153 


There is a long pause . Then Pilate speaks 
abruptly to his Wife. 

Pilate. Bring water! (She goes zvith Pages. 
Pilate approaches the Priests and speaks sig¬ 
nificantly.) He dies—that we may live. 

Annas. He dies—that our world, our laws, our 
customs, may endure. 

Caiaphas. He dies . . . for that he goeth 
against the God-of-things-as-they-are. 

Pilate. Ah,—that is the only sacrilege! 

The Pages enter zvith basin, pitcher of zvater 
and tozvel. Pilate’s zvife takes the basin and 
holds it before him. The Page pours zvater on 
his hands. 

Pilate (washes his hands in the face of the 
multitude). I am innocent of the blood of this 
just man. 

His Wife shrinks azvay from him in horror. 

People {shout). Huzza! Huzza! His blood be 
upon us! 

Ay, and upon our children! Huzza! Huzza! 

Pilate {breaks his staff). Take him—and cru¬ 
cify him! {He throzvs the broken staff among the 
people.) 

People {shout). Huzza! Huzza! A crown 
of thorns and a reed to make merry! Hail, King 
of the Jews! All hail! {As they shout, there is 
seen a medley of tossing arms, one brandishing a 
reed and a crozvn of thorns.) 

The Priests and Pharisee hasten azvay. 

Pilate’s Wife. Not all the rivers of Judaea 
shall wash thee clean. 


154 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 

The curtain descends to mark the passage of a 
few hours. 

When the curtain rises it is about the ninth hour. 
A chair has been placed at the right of the hall, 
facing the left squarely. Pilate is seated in the 
chair, brooding. One Page stands at his left. 

The room is in semi-shadow, but the view 
through the doors shows Jerusalem, brilliant with 
the setting sun. 

Pilate. Bring wine! (The Page goes.) Hor¬ 
rible heat! (He throws off cloak, then relapses 
gloomily into his seat.) 

The Page enters, bringing goblet and pitcher and 
accompanied by the second Page. 

Second Page. My lord, Joseph of Arimathaea 
asketh audience. 

Pilate. Tell him to go to the-nay, ad¬ 

mit him! No canting priest, he! 

The Second Page goes. The First Page pours 
wine. Pilate drinks. 

The second Page enters, followed by Joseph of 
Arimathaea. 

Second Page (announces). Joseph of Arima¬ 
thaea! (He goes out, with the First Page.) 

Pilate. Well—have ye come to revile me, or 
fawn upon me? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Neither, Lord Gov¬ 
ernor. 

Pilate. I have slain him. (There is a pause.) 
Have ye naught to say? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. You have cast out of 



COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 155 


the world a very beautiful thing. The world is 
less good to live in. 

Pilate ( straightening in his chair). Is that all? 
Speak plainly! I have done a damnable thing. I 
have let myself be used, I—Pontius Pilate—Gov¬ 
ernor of Judaea,—and those swine, priests and 
Pharisees still live. (He leans forward earnestly.) 

Who is this man? Whence is he? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. He came out from 
God and he returneth thither unto Him again. 

Pilate. Men say—’tis one of the accusations— 
he maketh himself out to be as God—What say 
you? 

Joseph of Arimathaea (roused out of his 
quietude). As God? You are mad! Why the 
man is a Jew—brought up on the first command¬ 
ment: Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one 
God! 

Jesus of Nazareth is his dear-loved son—as are 
we all—but, O God of Israel, how much more in 
the divine likeness! 

Pilate (after a pause of consideration, pursing 
his lips). Well—what would you of me? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. O my Lord, I loved 
the man! Give me his body! 

The sunset light fades slowly. 

Pilate. To what end? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. I have a tomb, where¬ 
in never yet man was laid. I would lap him in 
myrrh and aloes and bear his wounded body thither. 
I would have those he loved minister unto him. 

Pilate. Is he dead? ’Tis but the ninth hour. 


156 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Joseph of Arimathaea. He is dying. He rests 
upon a cross between two thieves, and on the cross 
is written: This is the 'King of the Jews! (Pilate 
laughs a little low laugh. Joseph draws slightly 
away.) Lord, was this thy doing? 

Pilate ( with some show of amusement). Ay! 
The priests came unto me, arrogantly demanding 
I change the inscription to: This is he who calleth 
himself King of the Jews!—But I would not. 

Joseph of Arimathaea {gravely). Never hath 
a king ruled in greater majesty than he of Golgotha. 
{There is a pause during which the darkness with¬ 
out seems to fill the chamber.) 

Behold, darkness comes, and by our law he must 
be buried ere the sabbath dawn. Give me, I pray 
thee, the body of my friend! 

Pilate {rising and approaching the door). This 
is not the darkness of night. ’Tis but the ninth 
hour! There ariseth a storm from the heated day. 
See how blackness sweeps across Jerusalem. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Blackness sweeps 
across the world. 

Pilate {turning back). Ye hint at dread things ! 
Begone, you and your Jewish superstitions! By 
tomorrow’s sunlight mankind will have forgot one 
man’s death. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Ay— in the resurrec¬ 
tion ! 

Pilate. Speak plainly! 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Out of the winter ever 
cometh spring; out of the death of the tomb shall 
rise the living Christ. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 157 


Pilate. You evade me. Mean you his body 
will rise? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. It was not his body 
the priests hated. What they sought to slay will 
flower in the hearts of men a thousand years. 

Pilate. What was it the priests sought to slay? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Truth! 

Pilate (leaning forward in his chair). What is 
truth? 

There is a pause, then, without, the storm breaks 
over the city accompanied by lightning. There are 
confused cries of people panic-stricken. Ai! AH 

Pilate. Hearken! (He calls.) Ho, without! 

The Pages come running. 

Pilate. What means this rush of people? What 
hath stirred them? 

Page. Sir, the unnatural darkness! These 
coward men are frighted at their deed. They 
throng hither from Calvary, crying that the ground 
shakes, and the graves give up their dead, and 
thunders shake the heavens. 

Annas and Nathanael enter with hasty foot¬ 
steps. 

Pilate (rises). Sirs, ye are bold. Ye seek 
me unbidden. 

Annas. Lord Governor, we demand the body 
of the crucified [in the name of the Sanhedrim!] 

Pilate (thoroughly exasperated ). Now whose 
servant am I? Shall I take schooling from you 


158 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Jewish priests? I shall give the body unto whom 
I will. 

Nathanael. But lord we fear. . . . 

Pilate. I am glad of it. I also fear from this 
mad day’s doings. 

Nathanael. We fear—the resurrection. 

Pilate. Explain. 

Annas. One day as this man passed by the 
Temple of our fathers he was heard to say —(To 
Nathanael.) Speak thou! Thou heardest him. 

Nathanael. He said, Destroy this Temple and 
in three days I will raise it again. 

Pilate. So! well? 

Nathanael (impressively). ’Tis thought—he 
spake of the temple of his body. 

Pilate’s Wife enters unnoticed, behind him . 

From this point the sky gradually clears. 

Pilate. Ha, ha! Ye mean he will rise from 
the grave and smite you? May I be there to see! 

Annas (much annoyed). We do not mean any¬ 
thing [so foolish.] 

Nathanael. [We are not of the credulous.] 

Annas. We fear lest his disciples steal the body 
and proclaim him risen, to the deceiving of the mul¬ 
titude. 

Pilate, (lifting his hand and speaking with 
amusement) . Be calm! No man would credit any¬ 
thing so palpably absurd. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 159 


Annas. Man will believe anything—anything! 
Never yet have I found aught so impossible of 
credence that it found no apostle. 

Pilate (mutters). Ye should know. (Aloud.) 
Bah! Ye are the credulous. Ye fear him dead as 
living. And if they did proclaim the resurrection, 
what then? 

Annas. Then—based on a lying marvel, his 
ideals would flood the world, ideals hostile to the 
established order. Can a Roman desire his triumph ? 

Pilate’s Wife. Whether or no, his triumph is 
assured. (All turn to her, perceiving her for the 
first time.) 

Pilate. Eh? The man is dead? 

Pilate’s Wife. He is dead—but he will live 
forever in the hearts of men—because of his word. 
Dying he saith, Father forgive them [for they know 
not what they do.] 

Nathanael. Give us the body, lord. . . . 

Annas. Give us the body. . . . (They speak 
simultaneously.) 

Joseph of Arimathaea (pressing forward). 
My lord—? 

Pilate. Enough! (To Joseph.) Go thou and 
take the body and bury it deep—deep that it plague 
me not again. 

Annas (turning to Joseph). Joseph of Arima¬ 
thaea, thou art of us, a member of the Sanhedrim. 
I call upon thee to yield up the body. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. I will not. 


160 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Nathanael. What means this? 

Annas. Joseph of Arimathaea, I distrust thee. 
Thou wert not present when we voted the death 
of this man Jesus. Thou art neither hot nor cold. 

Nathanael. If thou yield the body of Jesus to 
his disciples, thou art no true son of Israel. 

Joseph of Arimathaea (bowing to Pilate). 
My lord, I thank thee. (He turns to go, then flings 
hack over his shoulder.) I yield the body to no one. 
(He goes.) 

Annas (to Pilate). Revoke thy order! 

Pilate. I will not. (He sinks hack in his chair, 
yawning.) Take soldiers, watch ye three days be¬ 
side the tomb of Joseph, and, when the Son of God 
ariseth, bring me word, that I may see him. 

Priests (blackly). Blasphemer! 


ACT IV 

A street in Jerusalem in front of the house 
of Caiaphas. 

From the center of the house of Caiaphas a sort 
of balcony juts forth, about six feet or less, above 
the ground. At the right of the balcony is an arched 
entrance, leading into the house. High above this 
is a small double arched window. Several feet to 
the left of the balcony the house ends, but it is 
connected with the next house (off stage) by a dy¬ 
ing buttress, which slopes from the house of Caia¬ 
phas downwards, so that a glimpse of sky may be 
obtained. The flying buttress is pierced by a large 
arched passageway leading to streets beyond. 

It is the third day, early morning, before it is 
yet light. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 161 


Mary of Magdala and Salome, seen hardly 
more than shadows, enter from the right. Their 
robes are sombre and their air dejected. They 
carry vases of spice and perfume. They pass out 
under the great arch. 

There is a faint lightening of the air. 

Mary and Salome reappear, running with fleet 
feet. They are wonder-eyed. They pass out to the 
right. In a few moments two men appear and run 
through the arch, followed, after a few seconds, by 
Mary. Then the people begin to pass through, si¬ 
lently, but with strained, eager faces, hastening 
toward the tomb. 

A Servant opens the shutters of the house of 
Caiaphas, looks out, yawns, and disappears. 

The Blind Man enters from the left, and takes 
his place, under the arch. After a few seconds the 
Fruit Vender follows. 


Fruit Vender. Eh, little father, why dost sit 
here on the road to nowhere? 

Blind Man. Hark’ee, if he come, he must pass 
me by. 

Fruit Vender. He! Who ? 

Blind Man. The master! Said he not, “The 
third day!” The third day he would come again? 

Fruit Vender. What! Dost think the spirit of 
the dead will live again—and enter his mortal body ? 

Blind Man. I wait to see. 

Fruit Vender (pitying). Best come with me! 


162 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


I’ll lead thee to thy seat ’neath the temple stairs. 
The pilgrims will fill thy cup with pennies. 

Blind Man. Eh, lad, I may sit there no longer. 

Fruit Vender. And wherefore? 

Blind Man ( with a nod toward the house of 
Caiaphas). They — the priests, forbade. They said, 
Thou hast chose thy master; go seek him in the 
tomb! ( The face of the Fruit Vender blackens 
with anger.) So I sought him, lad, I sought him, 
but Rome’s soldiers, they drave me hence . . . 
but he must pass me by—here—if he cometh, eh, 
lad? 

Fruit Vender. Content thee. The dead are dead 
—and happy—so be it they are with God. 

Blind Man. Needs not death for that, lad! 

Fruit Vender. Eh, little father, can a man be¬ 
hold God’s face—and live? 

Blind Man. Can a man live without him? 

Fruit Vender. Ay, that can he! — and prosper! 
‘Tis they flourish greatliest—for they refuse alms 
to the blind man, and drive him from temple stair! 

. . . God requite them! 

Blind Man. No, no, lad, say it not ! . . . 
Hearken! {He looks upward.) 

Fruit Vender ( following his glance). The note 
of a bird! 

Blind Man. Is it day yet? 

Fruit Vender. Dawn breaketh. Sky pales be¬ 
hind Olivet. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 163 


Blind Man. There’s strange peace fills the air. 
Seems curiously as though the world stood still— 
holding its breath—to listen.... 

Fruit Vender. To what? ’Tis ever so before 
the dawn. And then—birds’ twitter and chatter of 
market-place, and day followeth day, and the evil 
slay the good, and I find not God in this, his world. 

Blind Man. Thou speaketh as a child that hath 
buried the day. God giveth to all things resurrec¬ 
tion. 

Fruit Vender. But—if we have buried GOD? 

Blind Man. The grave cannot hold him; death 
cannot celebrate him. . . . 

Fruit Vender (startled). Man,—thinkest thou 
him slain on Calvary—God? 

Blind Man ( smiling gently). God? God spake 
through him as never yet through man, but—can 
God indeed dwell in houses of clay ? Behold, heaven 
and the heaven of heavens cannot contain him. . . . 

Fruit Vender ( petulantly, through reaction of 
feeling). Then—[thy meaning?] 

Blind Man. There cometh a little wind and a 
whiff of day. 

As he speaks, the sunlight gilds the top of the 
house of Caiaphas. Enter, from the left, the Wine 
Vender, strapping on his bottles. 

Fruit Vender. Ay, dawn cometh. That’s mir¬ 
acle enough for me. The sunlight gilds the peak of 
the temple and all Jerusalem flashes into glory. 

Wine Vender. Ay, old man, dawn cometh; 
(Maliciously) —third day hath dawned! And naught 
hath resurrection save red Judean lilies. 


164 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


There is a distant cry of Hosanna! repeated 
again and again. 

Blind Man. Hearken! 

Wine Vender. Tis song of pilgrims as they 
leave the temple. (To Fruit Vender.) Haste thee, 
or thou wilt lose a day’s profit! 

Fruit Vender. That was no pilgrim song; that 
was a shout—a shout of gladness. (He runs through 
arch a little way.) 

The cry is heard again. 

Blind Man. Hearken! (All listen. The Blind 
Man rises.) 

Blind Man. The Christ is risen! 

Wine Vender. [Bah!] 

Blind Man. The Christ is risen! 

Fruit Vender (hastens hack , crying). Look! 
Look yonder! (He drags the Wine Vender to the 
arch.) People gather! 

Wine Vender. A street brawl! 

Fruit Vender (excitedly). Man, man, yon lies 
the tomb of Joseph! 

Wine Vender (shaking him off). I care not! 

Fruit Vender. I care! (He hastens toward the 
shouting.) 

Wine Vender. Imbecile! (He goes out toward 
the right, where lies the temple and his profits.) 

The Blind Man stands straining his ears to 
hear. As the scene progresses, he gradually sinks 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 165 


to his former position, and buries his head in his 
arms, as though to shut out the voice of the world. 

The First and Third Pharisees enter hastily 
from under the arch, and pound on the door of the 
house of Caiaphas. The Servant looks out of the 
window, but before she can unbar the door Caia¬ 
phas appears on the balcony. 

Caiaphas. Well-? 

First Pharisee. O Caiaphas, men proclaim him 
risen! I [feared this, I feared this all along... .] 

Caiaphas. Come, come, who say so? 

First Pharisee. Everybody! ’Twill be [worse 
now . . . ] 

Caiaphas. The rabble! 

First Pharisee. But he hath been seen.... 

Caiaphas. By you? 

First Pharisee ( shuddering ). Not I! ’Twas 
a woman saw him. She telleth her tale yonder to 
the thronging curious. 

Caiaphas. What woman? 

Third Pharisee. Mary of Magdala. 

Caiaphas. Humph! We know of this Mary of 
Magdala, of old. She hath ever seen strange vis¬ 
ions. Bring her to me ! 

First Pharisee (doubtfully) . Then you do not 
believe ? 

Caiaphas (leaning over the balcony). My good 
sir, the foolish believe; the vulgar know, but the 
wise man doubts—doubts eternally. 


166 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Third Pharisee {as he turns to do Caiaphas’ 
bidding). The wise man separates the chaff from 
the wheat {Exit.) 

First Pharisee {nervously). I feared this, I 
feared it all along. ’Twill be worse now than if we 
had not slain him. 

Caiaphas. We must quench these idle tales. 
Attend! I will go with thee. {He turns and en¬ 
ters his house.) 

The First Pharisee paces to and fro before the 
arch, then calls. 

First Pharisee. Ho, men! {He beckons. Enter 
the two Soldiers of Pilate.) Come ye from the 
tomb of Joseph? 

First Soldier {with ill-temper). May the gods 
cause fire and brimstone to rain on the tomb of 
Joseph! 

Caiaphas issues from his house, more fully clad. 

Caiaphas. Hither, men! Give an account of 
your guarding of the tomb. 

First Soldier. Sir, we owe account to no 
man save to our officer. 

Caiaphas takes a gold piece from his pouch. 

First Soldier. Sir, we stood guard from mid¬ 
night until dawn. {He pockets the gold piece.) 

Caiaphas. And naught disturbed you? 

First Soldier. Naught disturbed us. 

Caiaphas. Ye mean—ye slept. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 167 


First Soldier ( virtuously). A Roman soldier 
never sleeps. 

Caiaphas. Ye slept. (He gives the First Sol¬ 
dier another gold piece.) 

First Soldier ( scratches his ear and turns to 
the Second Soldier doubtfully). Did we? 

Caiaphas (giving a piece of gold to the Second 
Soldier). Ye slept. 

Second Soldier (grinning). I remember now 
—we slept. 

First Soldier. Tell us what more we did, 
master priest. What did we dream? 

Caiaphas. The disciples of Jesus came by night, 
and stole away the body while ye slept. 

First Soldier. And if this come to the gov¬ 
ernor’s ear? 

Caiaphas. We will see to it that ye suffer 
nothing. 

First Soldier. So be it! (He turns to go.) 

Caiaphas. Wait ye! I’ll give you writing to 
the governor shall secure you—and hark ye, clap 
in prison all men, ay, or women who cry, He is 
risen. (He turns to the First Pharisee.) That 
should suffice. (They two enter his house.) 

First Soldier (to Second Soldier). Good 
imperial doctrine that! Lock ’em up! Gaol them— 
all who gainsay me! 

Second Soldier. Eh, comrade? 


168 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


First Soldier. Go, build me some prisons, 
comrade! 

Second Soldier {grinning). How many? 

First Soldier makes a gesture with his arms 
as though to include all humanity. 

There is a distant shouting of hosannas. It grows 
louder. Presently people hasten through the arch, 
surrounding Mary of Magdala. Joseph of Ari- 
mathaea follows with the Third Pharisee. 

People. Allelujah! He is risen! Hosanna! 
Hosanna in the highest! 

Caiaphas followed by the First Pharisee, ap¬ 
pears on the balcony. 

Caiaphas ( raising his hand for quiet). Peace, 
men! Bring the woman hither. And do you, 
Mary, tell your tale—what you heard and saw. 

Third Pharisee. Fear not. 

Mary of Magdala. I fear not. You can but 
destroy this body. 

Caiaphas. Pish! Tell your tale! And you — 
(to the crowd) begone! 

The people go. The Blind Man raises his head 
to listen. 

Mary of Magdala. O sirs,—early in the morn¬ 
ing, while it was yet dark, I came unto the sepulchre, 
and saw the stone taken away. And I ran to 
Simon Peter, and to the other disciple whom Jesus 
loved, and said unto them, They have taken away 
the Lord out of the sepulchre, and I know not 
where they have laid him. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 169 


And they both ran together, and beheld the linen 
cloths lying,—and the napkin. And they both ran 
away again. 

But I,—I stood by the sepulchre, weeping; and as 
I wept, I stooped down, and looked into the sepul¬ 
chre, and I saw two angels in white, sitting, the one 
at the head, and the other at the feet, where the body 
of Jesus had lain. 

And they said unto me, Woman, why weepest 
thou? 

I said unto them, Because they have taken away 
my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him. 

And when I had thus said, I turned myself 
back and saw Jesus standing,—and knew not that 
it was Jesus. 

He saith unto me, Woman, why weepest thou? 
Whom seekest thou? 

I,—supposing him to be the gardener, said unto 
him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me 
where thou hast laid him,—and I will take him 
away. 

He saith unto me, Mary! 

I said unto him, Rabboni! Master! 

He saith unto me, Touch me not,—for I am not 
yet ascended unto my father,—but go unto my 
brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my 
father,—and your father; and to my God and your 
God. 

There is a pause; then Caiaphas turns and speaks 
vehemently. 

Caiaphas. It was the gardener. 

Mary, smiling faintly, shakes her head. 

Caiaphas. Woman, who taught thee? 

Mary of Magdala. Taught? Sir, I spake as 
I saw. 


170 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


Caiaphas. As you dreamed—lying tongue! Go! 
Begone! Retract thy tale! 

Mary of Magdala. I will not. 

Caiaphas. Means shall be found to force thee. 

( To the Soldiers.) Take her away, and guard 
her well. Her mind is shattered. (He gives them 
paper.) 

The Soldiers take her away amid dead silence. 

There is a pause. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Well? 

Caiaphas. Well—she is only one; she may be 
suppressed. 

Joseph of Arimathaea (smiling). By tomor¬ 
row there will be a hundred who have seen him. 
A hundred, did I say ? A thousand! 

First Pharisee (aghast). And ye believef 

Joseph of Arimathaea. Except a corn of wheat 
fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but 
if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. I believe he 
will spring to life in a thousand hearts. 

Caiaphas. You quibble! 

Joseph of Arimathaea. You —we—have buried 
his teaching deep—deep—; but in due time it will 
have resurrection. Then war will go, the old ways 
of the world. . . . 

First Pharisee. The old ways are sweet. 

Joseph of Arimathaea. “Behold a sower went 
forth to sow,—and some seed fell by the wayside, 
and the birds of the air devoured it. And other fell 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 171 


on rocky ground,—and because it had no root it 
withered away. And other fell among thorns,—and 
the thorns grew up and choked it. And others 
fell on good ground and brought forth, some thirty¬ 
fold, some sixtyfold, and some an hundredfold.” 

There is a pause. 

Caiaphas. You— you are become a follower of 
this Jesus! 

Joseph of Arimathaea (meets his gaze 
squarely, and replies after the briefest interval). 
Yea! 

There is a pause. 

First Pharisee (leaning curiously over the bal¬ 
cony). And will you give up your goods to feed 
the poor? 

Third Pharisee. And will you endure a blow 
and return it not again? 

Caiaphas {keenly). Can you live on the height 
of the Sermon on the Mount? 

Joseph of Arimathaea. I know not. Are we 
not all of the valley? But— {He turns slowly and 
goes.) 

The others watch his departure with dismay. 
Caiaphas and the First Pharisee turn and eye 
one another. 

Caiaphas. Ye know,—and I know—this man 
Jesus is safe dead, but if his ideas sprout on every 
bush, what are we benefitted? 

Third Pharisee {musingly). What are we bene¬ 
fitted? {At his tone the others turn and regard him 
askance. He continues as though to himself.) “De- 


172 COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 


stroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it 
again.” 

Caiaphas. Well? 

Third Pharisee. The people claim he spake 
of God's temple at Jerusalem, but his disciples say 
he spake of the temple of his body. . . . 

Caiaphas (sneeringly) . Well—art thou, too, 

turned believer? 

Third Pharisee ( looking up). What if he 
spake of the temple of his thought? 

First Pharisee ( stares, then shrugs). Too deep 
for me! 

Third Pharisee. We have destroyed his body; 
may not his thought arise and carry the world up 
as by eagle’s wings? 

Caiaphas. No, no, my friend, you dream! The 
world is too heavy-laden—too self-laden; his word 
calls for self-crucifixion. 

If his word arise in the heart of man,—through¬ 
out all ages men will seek to bury it again. 

As it was in the beginning,—is now—and ever 
shall be, World without end, Amen! 

First Pharisee. And Amen! 

Caiaphas and the First Pharisee turn from the 
balcony and reenter the house of Caiaphas. The 
Third Pharisee, after a moment's thought, passes 
out in the direction taken by Joseph of Arima- 
thaea. 

There is a brief pause; then the Blind Man looks 
up. The sunlight has lowered on the house of 
Caiaphas, so that when the Blind Man rises, he 
rises into the light. 


COMING DOWN THE MOUNT 173 


Blind Man ( where he still crouches by the 
arched passage, murmurs). No, no, my masters, 
ye cannot slay him! We hold him safe in our 
hearts . . . and we shall hear his voice ... as 
he spake on the mountain . . . ( He rises and 
speaks as though vested with the authority of 
his master.) . . . Love your enemies! Bless them 
that curse you . . . and pray for them that despite- 
fully use you and persecute you, that ye may be 
the children of your father. 




MARGARET OF SALEM 


175 































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THE CHARACTERS 


Minister Parris, of Salem. 

Rebecca Nurse, a woman of Salem. 

Mary Easty, her sister. 

Tituba, an old Indian slave of Parris. 

Betty Parris, aged nine. 

Abigail Williams, aged eleven. 

Anne Putnam, aged twelve. 

Mary Walcot, aged seventeen. 

Elizabeth Hubbard, aged seventeen. 
Margaret Scott, aged seventeen. 

Dr. Griggs, of Salem, uncle to Elizabeth and 
Margaret. 

Cotton Mather, Minister of Boston. 

Robert Calef, of Boston. 

Thomas Putnam, of Salem. 

Goodwife Martin. 

Goodwife Bibber. 

Marshal. 

First Constable. 

Second Constable. 

Old Crone. 

Men of Salem. 

ACT I. The living-room of Minister Parris, 
Salem. 

ACT II. The study of Cotton Mather, Bos¬ 
ton. 

ACT III. The graveyard, Salem. 

ACT IV. Corridor just outside the court¬ 
room, Salem. 

ACT V. Way leading to Gallows Hill. 


177 






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I 









MARGARET OF SALEM 

ACT I. 

The living-room or kitchen of the minister of 
Salem is rather dreary. In the center is a huge fire¬ 
place, with smouldering log fire. Over this hangs a 
black pot, simmering, which the old Indian woman, 
Tituba, stirs occasionally. She wears nondescript 
drab clothes, but a bright red scarf is drawn over 
her black hair, and brass earrings dangle from her 
ears. She is quite old and feeble. When not tending 
the fire she spins at her wheel, to left of the fire¬ 
place. Beyond the wheel, back, is a door opening 
on a small, gray street. By the door is a stool, on 
which rests a poppet or rag doll. 

At the right of the fireplace is a settle at right 
angles; beyond is a door leading into other chamber. 
In the right wall is a window; beside it, a rack, hold¬ 
ing man's hat and cape. 

Four girls are gathered together; their knitting 
lies about unheeded. They also wear the drab 
clothes of Puritanism, relieved by white cuffs, caps 
and kerchiefs. Mary Walcot, the oldest, is seated 
on stool, by window. Her work lies untouched in 
her lap; her repose is rather sinister. Betty 
Parris, the daughter of the house, a gay child of 
nine, is bending over Tituba. Anne Putnam, a 
wonder-eyed child of twelve, is sitting on hearth. 
Abigail Williams, a cold-blooded little piece, 
Betty’s cousin, is for the moment sitting demurely 
on settle, watching Minister Parris as he crosses 
the room to the outer door, accompanied by two 
women, Mary Easty, an intelligent, middle-aged 
woman; and her sister, Rebecca Nurse, who is 
old and rather frail. 


179 


180 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Parris {hard, cold, intolerant). I tell thee, 
Mary Easty, thy words smack of impiety. The 
souls here in Salem are confided to my charge; and 
I shall deal rigorously with them—rigorously. 

Mary Easty {mutters something suspiciously 
like, God help them! and turns to door.) 

Rebecca Nurse {feeble in her walk, but not her 
spirit). But sir, the poor old souls, Goodies Good 
and Osburn, are harmless bodies- 

Parris {with rebuke). In the service of Satan 
they have devil's power. 

Rebecca Nurse {following her sister out of 
door, turns). Minister of Salem, God’s minister 
should believe in the all-power of God. {She goes.) 

Parris {calling after her). Rebecca Nurse, Re¬ 
becca Nurse, the church shall deal with thee! The 

church shall deal-. {He slams the door to, 

strides across room to rack near inner door, takes 
down his steeple hat and long black cape, and goes 
out of doors again, slamming the door violently be¬ 
hind him.) 

The children resume their interrupted conversa¬ 
tion. 

Betty {coaxingly, her arm about Tituba’s neck). 
Tituba, show me how—prithee, dear Tituba! 

Anne {gleefully). What tricks we could play! 
Think, in the meeting-house when your father, 
Betty, had given out the text, to make your voice 
come from way up in the air—and drown out the 
sermon! 

Betty. And not get punished for it! 



MARGARET OF SALEM 


181 


Anne. You could pretend you were the devil 
come to meeting. 

Betty. O Tituba, don’t be tiresome; tell us, 
please! 

Tituba. Beware, beware, or the black man’ll 
surely get ye! ( Her voice seems to come from 
distance.) 

Betty and Abigail run to door; Abigail opens 
and peers out. They are frightened. 

Mary ( without turning her head). That was 
Tituba again. 

Betty {relieved). O how you scared me! {Re¬ 
turning, she leans over Tituba.) Art sure, Tituba, 
thou’rt not a witch? 

Tituba. Tituba no witch, honey. 

Mary. You must be, else you’d show us how 
you make your voice jump around so. 

Tituba. Eberyone not able, but Missie Hub¬ 
bard able. 

Betty {clapping her hands). Can Elizabeth do 
it? O goody! Goody! 

Abigail. Where is Elizabeth today? {She closes 
door and returns.) 

Anne. Her cousin, Margaret Scott, of Rowley’s 
come to visit her. 

Mary. Come to live with her, she told me. Dr. 
Griggs is guardian to both of ’em. She said she’d 
bring her cousin here today, and we could see if 
we wanted her—to join us. 


182 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Abigail. What is she like? Hast seen her? 

Mary. Rather timid—a lamb for Elizabeth’s 
shepherding! 

Betty. O let us fright her! I shall throw a fit 
—even as she enters. 

Anne. And I shall read her palm—the way 
Tituba showed us. I speak to do it. 

Abigail (brings forward a stool and sits near 
Tituba; she sticks the poppet which was on the 
stool carelessly beneath). I think we must be care¬ 
ful; if she’s a tell-tale she might spoil everything. 

Mary ( with conviction) . Elizabeth’ll see to it 
she’s no tell-tale. 

Betty. Perhaps she’ll say it’s witchcraft. 

Mary. Perhaps it is. 

Betty. Bewitched? I —bewitched? {laughs in¬ 
credulously.) 

Mary {seriously) . Elizabeth says she thinks so. 
{She rises and goes to peer out of window.) 

Betty. Not really? {She follozvs Mary to win¬ 
dow.) 

Mary. She saith that Goody Nurse hath looked 
upon you with an evil eye. 

Betty. Goody Nurse—oh no! 

Abigail {making sure that the poppet is hid 
in her pocket under apron). Where is thy poppet, 
Betty ? 

Betty {hunts with growing anxiety). Oh, dost 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


183 


think she took it ? It was here near the door—Will 
she stick pins in it, and make me pine away? 

Mary. She hath dared reprove me—ay and 
Elizabeth also, for things she had known nothing of 
had she not been a witch. She shall pay. I think that 
there be many witches here in Salem. 

Abigail (who in pretended search for poppet 
has crossed to window). There come Elizabeth 
and her cousin now! 

Betty. Let’s see if we can scare her—just for 
fun! ( She crawls under settle.) Cry, “Witch!” 
Cry, “Witch!” 

Elizabeth Hubbard, dark, handsome, sullen, 
enters with Margaret Scott. Abigail goes to 
meet them. 

Abigail. Ah Elizabeth, is this your cousin? 

Elizabeth. This is my sweet cousin Margaret, 
of Rowley. ( With a wave of the hand.) Abigail 
Williams, a cold-blooded piece! Anne Putnam, 
who manages us all! Mary Walcot, my particular 
gossip! But where is Betty? 

Betty (from under settle). Oh! Oh! I am be¬ 
witched ! 

Abigail (peering up at Margaret). O sweet 
maid, I’ve seen you at witches’ gatherings o’ dark 
nights. 

Mary. You took the devil’s sacrament at my 
side 

Anne. Do you not remember our long chats 
when we swept through the air on a broomstick? 

Margaret (looks bewildered, then her face lights 


184 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


with fun). Well I remember it, but little I thought 
that the old hags I saw there were so young and 
fair. 

Good Mistress Betty, Abigail, Anne and Mary, 
will ye admit me to your worshipful company? 
{Sweeps a low courtesy.) 

Anne. Can you do all that we do? 

Margaret. I can try. I can sing a song—and 
dance; but do not tell it. 

Anne. Sing a song! Sing a song—but low, so 
that none may hear it. 

Abigail. Thou understandest ? Not a psalm— 
a song! I am aweary of psalms—and dance there¬ 
to! Tituba’ll tell no tales. 

Elizabeth. Draw tight the curtain. 

Betty drazvs curtain over window. Margaret 
seizes Betty’s hand and dances, and sings some 
little old ballad; the others join in the refrain as 
though trying to learn it. 

SONG: Old English. 

“Summer is i’ comen in; Loudly sing: Cuckoo! 

Groweth seed and bloweth mead 

And springeth the wood anew. 

Sing, Cuckoo-” 

Betty (as the dance ends). Well done, sweet 
maid; now tell me, canst call a spirit from the 
nether world? 

Margaret. Nay! Good Mistress Parris, canst 
thou? 

Betty. Yea, I can call—but alack, they do not 
answer. ( Both laugh.) 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


185 


Anne. But there be who can do so. 

Margaret ( wistfully ). If it could be? I met 
one even now who knew my mother ere she died; 
she hath well-nigh conjured up her likeness, so 
sweet she spoke of her. 

Elizabeth. Pshaw, Margaret, she hath be¬ 
witched you. 

Mary. What was her name? 

Margaret. Rebecca Nurse. 

There is an odd pause. 

Abigail {strangely ). Rebecca Nurse! 

Mary. I knew she was a witch. 

Anne. Why Elizabeth, what ails thee? 

Elizabeth. It was Rebecca Nurse who carried 
false tales of me to Robert Calef—poisoned his 
mind against me, when he would have asked for 
me. I hate her. 

Margaret. Robert Calef—of Boston? He who 
speaks against witchcraft? 

Mary. My sweet Elizabeth, that was a little 
dream. He never loved thee, else he would never 
have listened to any old woman’s tale. 

Elizabeth. My sweet Mary, he did not listen 
to any old woman’s tale—but Rebecca Nurse, by 
her devil’s arts, turned him from me. 

Abigail. All her family have flouted us as though 
we were dirt beneath their feet— 

Elizabeth. They shall pay —she shall pay. 


186 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Margaret. Sure thou’rt mistook—that frail old 
soul- 

Tituba. A witch don’t need strength, honey. 

Mary ( watching Margaret closely). You see, 
old Tituba’s a witch in her own country and she 
hath taught us lots of queerish things. 

Margaret (gazing at Tituba with horror). A 
witch! 

Tituba. Shall I read Missie’s palm? 

Betty ( clapping her hands). Marg’ret’s afeard. 

Margaret (lying). I am not. (She puts her 
hand in Tituba’s.) 

Tituba (studies hand, hesitates). Missie’s hand 
hard to read; I cannot read it. 

Voice from Without. Tituba is a liar; heed 
her not. 

All look round startled, save Tituba. 

Tituba (Reproachfully). Missie Hubbard 
should not say such things. 

Betty (gleefully). Oh Elizabeth, was it thou? 
O if I could but do it! (She practices.) Tituba is 
a witch! Tituba is a witch! 

O dear, my voice comes from right inside me. 

All practice, e< Tituba is a witch” trying to throw 
their voices. 

Tituba (interrupts). Sh! Sh! There’s the 
master. (She goes to door.) 

Parris (outside). This way, sir! 



MARGARET OF SALEM 


187 


At the sound of voices the girls have instantly 
formed a circle on the floor and are knitting indus¬ 
triously . Elizabeth pulls Margaret down beside 
her. Parris enters with Dr. Griggs, who is portly, 
yet forbidding. The girls rise and courtesy respect¬ 
fully. Abigail brings chairs. Tituba goes out of 
doors. 

Parris. Betty, come here; I would have Dr. 
Griggs examine you. 

Betty ( backs behind settle and glowers). Oh, 
oh, I am afeard! 

Griggs (seating himself on chair opposite settle). 
Nothing shall hurt thee, child. (Betty screams.) 
How long has this been going on? 

Parris ( standing at Griggs' left). A month or 
more she hath had these fits, then suddenly recov¬ 
ered; Abigail also. 

Mary {courtesies). We all have suffered from 
them, if it please you. 

Griggs. Canst tell the cause, my child? 

Mary. I cannot tell—unless it be- 

Griggs. Witchcraft? (Mary nods; Griggs 
wags his head thoughtfully.) I fear me, Minister 
Parris, it is even so. I fear me there be witches 
here in Salem; for there be cases where my strongest 
remedies are of no avail. 

Parris. I am of your opinion. There be several 
families—unbelievers. (Griggs nods. Parris 
turns to Betty.) Listen, my child, canst thou tell 
me who afflicts thee? 


Betty. I know not, I 




188 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Abigail. I know! ’Tis Rebecca Nurse! 

Parris’ face lights up; he darts a keen glance at 
Griggs. Tituba, who has gone out for firewood, 
returns and mends fire. 

Betty ( coming forward to Griggs’ knee con¬ 
fidingly'). She hath stole my poppet. 

Elizabeth {calmly). There be several women, 
uncle, who do afflict us, but I know not all their 
names—as yet. There’s Goody Good and Goody 
Osburn, sir, and Rebecca Nurse- 

Margaret. Oh no, Elizabeth- 

Elizabeth. She is a witch. 

Mary. Ay, ay, they be all witches. 

Abigail. When Betty had fits a dark nights, 
she hath screamed, Rebecca Nurse! Rebecca 
Nurse! Hurt me not I pray thee! 

Betty {wondering). Why Abigail, you never 
told me- 

Parris {takes hat and makes for door). These 
women must be questioned. 

Tituba {rising from hearth). Master, master, 
these children be but playing, master. 

Parris. Playing! ! ! 

Griggs. Playing, woman! ! ! ! ! 

Voice from Without. Tituba is a witch! She 
is a witch! 


Mary. She hath taught me evil things- 

Elizabeth and Abigail. And me! And me! 







MARGARET OF SALEM 


189 


Tituba. Tituba no witch, master. Nobody here 
witch! 

Abigail. You said you were one in your own 
country, Tituba! 

Tituba. Tituba witch in her own country; Ti¬ 
tuba no witch here. 

Voice from Without. Tituba is a witch. 

Parris ( grasps her shoulder with heavy hand). 
Confess, woman! There may be mercy yet. 

Tituba ( crouching low). Tituba poor old In¬ 
dian woman. Other women witches! Tituba no 
witch. 

Parris. What other women? Tell the truth 
woman, or thou shalt be whipped. 

Tituba. {dazed). Those they say. 

Parris. Name them. (Tituba looks up help¬ 
lessly.) Goody Good? 

Tituba {obediently). Goody Good. 

Parris. Goody Osburn ? 

Tituba. Goody Osburn. 

Parris. Rebecca Nurse? 

Tituba. Rebecca Nurse. 

Parris. And you? Confess. Those who con¬ 
fess shall win mercy. 

Mary. You know you really are a witch, Ti¬ 
tuba. 


Betty {cries). 


190 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Tituba ( zvavering ). Tituba witch in her own 
country- 

Griggs {impatiently). Come, come, out with it! 

Tituba. Tituba no know; maybe Tituba witch 
here. {She subsides by fireplace.) 

Parris {to Griggs). Send for the constable to 
take her in charge; the other women also. (Griggs 
turns to go.) 

Margaret {touching his sleeve). But uncle, this 
is—is this not all a—a jest? These children do not 
mean aught- 

Griggs {furiously). A jest? A jest, girl? Think 
you I am deceived? Is it a jest that these poor 
wenches are tormented, thrown into spasms, yea, 
most grievously afflicted? 

Meddle not, Margaret, mark me well, meddle not, 
I say. 

Elizabeth {putting her arm about Margaret). 
Good uncle, Mr. Parris, heed her not, I prithee. 
She hath met with Rebecca Nurse this very hour. 
She is the worse bewitched of any. Come, dear heart. 
{She seeks to lead Margaret away.) 

Margaret {struggling). But- 

Griggs. Hold thy tongue, and go! {Points 
sternly to door; Margaret goes.) {To Parris.) 
I shall take my nieces to the Reverend Mr. Mather 
of Boston. He hath studied the ways of witch¬ 
craft and men say that in his presence the devil 
hath no power. 

Parris. Do so —Peace, child. 

Betty. Oh ! Oh! {She snatches her poppet from 



MARGARET OF SALEM 


191 


Abigail’s pocket.) But ’tis my poppet. Thou 
had’st it all the time, thou minx! 

Father, old Rebecca Nurse did not afflict me, for 
she did not have my poppet to stick pins in. She 
is no witch after all. 

Abigail stifles a laugh. Anne looks solemn 
eyed. Griggs and Parris frown. 

Parris (in exasperation). Betty, pack up thy 
things to go a-visiting. Tomorrow thou leavest 
Salem. (Betty turns weeping.) 

CURTAIN. 


ACT II. 

Study of Cotton Mather, Boston. 

Door and fireplace are in same relative posi¬ 
tion as in Act I, but there is a table center 
right, and chairs against wall, primly set, at back. 
On the mantel and table are many books; on latter, 
a quill pen, inkstand. Cotton Mather is seated 
at his desk, writing. He rises, goes to mantel, con¬ 
sults book, then paces to and fro, declaiming his 
sermon. 

Mather. Woe to the inhabitants of the earth 
and of the sea, for the devil is come down to you, 
having great wrath, because he knoweth that his 
time is short; for the devil is come down unto you, 
having great wrath-! 

Now is the word fulfilled among you—now! 

For brethren, the devil is very nigh unto us, 
whispering in each ear that will listen, bidding us 
sell our souls for mortal gain. 

Not only in Salem doth this great plague of 
witchcraft fester sorely, but I have seen Satan he^e 



192 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


in God’s town of Boston, raging through the streets, 
seeking whom he may devour. 

Yea, to deny witchcraft is to deny Holy Writ, 
which says explicit: “Thou shalt not suffer a witch 
to live.” (Knock on door; Mather opens.) 

What, Dr. Griggs? Welcome, sir! 

Griggs enters. 

Griggs. Do I intrude, Mr. Mather? 

Mather. No, no, I was but developing my ser¬ 
mon. (Pulls forward chair.) Tell me of Salem? 
How goes it with the poor maids there? 

Griggs (seating himself). It goes ill. 

Mather. The will of Heaven be done! 

Griggs. More like the will of Hell! A bad busi¬ 
ness, Mr. Mather, a bad business! Four witches 
have been found, but who can tell how many more 
there be, going about clad in the garb of righteous¬ 
ness-that is, in so far as a woman may be 

righteous. 

Mather. Four, you say? The Indian woman 
and Goodwives Good and Osburn-? 

Griggs. Also—Rebecca Nurse. 

Mather. Rebecca Nurse! 

Alas that a life of good, yea, pious deeds should 
not be a complete armour ’gainst the devil! 

Griggs. Her good life is a snare and a delusion. 

Mr. Mather, I, as physician, certify to you, those 
five children are most grievously afflicted; if not by 
the devil in these women’s forms—then in God’s 
name, by whom? 

Mather. By whom, indeed? The devil surely 




MARGARET OF SALEM 


193 


taketh these women’s shapes; yet the women may 
still be virtuous- 

Griggs {hastily). How’s that? How’s that? 

Mather. If they confess—seek a state of 
grace- 

Griggs ( triumphantly ). But they do not con¬ 
fess—and the children suffer torments. Maybe I 
speak hotly, sir, but my niece, Elizabeth Hubbard 
is one of them, and all my skill cannot cure her. 

Mather. It lieth not in thy province, worthy 
sir, but be of cheer; He who banished the devils at 
Gadara will surely aid. 

Griggs. In matters spiritual thou art physician. 
I have brought her here. Pray over her, Mr. 
Mather; exorcise these devils. And hark’ee, I— 
there’s another minx—you remember Scott? Him 
who married Mary? 

Mather {his brow darkening) . That god-for¬ 
saken man who plead for Quakers and for toler¬ 
ation ? I knew him well at one time; he is dead. 

Griggs. His daughter dwells with me; and if 
Elizabeth hath seven devils, Margaret hath seven 
times seven. 

Mather. The sins of the father, how should 
she escape! Bring them- 

Griggs. That will I, Mr. Mather, and gladly. 
{Goes to door, opens and calls.) ’Lizabeth! Meg! 
Where are ye, wenches? 

Elizabeth {unthout, cries). I will not enter! I 
will not! I know Mr. Mather; he is a man of God. 
I will not go into his room. 





194 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Mather springs forward and assists Griggs to 
lead Elizabeth into room. She tries to strike him 
but her hand seemingly recoils from touching him. 

Margaret follows slowly with chin held high. 

Mather. Poor child! Poor child! 

Elizabeth ( drawing a long breath). The devils 
are gone from me; at thy touch, sir, they went. 
They say, God won’t let ’em in here. 

Mather {tenderly). What devils did afflict you? 

Elizabeth. It was Goody Nurse! It was Goody 
Nurse. 

Margaret. No! {She catches her breath as 
though to recall words.) 

Mather {looks at her attentively, then turns to 
Griggs). Leave them for th’ hour; I’ll pray to 
God. 

Griggs. God speed you. {He turns to go.) 

Mather. A word with you. {.He passes into 
hall with Griggs.) 

Elizabeth {as soon as they are alone). You 
do mad me, Margaret, you’re such a fool. What 
is Rebecca Nurse to you? 

Margaret. Old—frail—falsely accused. 

Elizabeth {plaintively). Margaret! And you 
know how I suffer because of her! 

Margaret. Thou! Thou hast not conscience 
enough to suffer. O Elizabeth, give over—give over 
crying “Witch” on those ye hate! (Elizabeth 
shrugs.) Then shall I tell Mr. Mather all—all; I 
will betray your secrets to him- 



MARGARET OF SALEM 


195 


Elizabeth. Do so— and we cry “Witch” on 
thee. 

Margaret ( her face paling). Thou wouldst not 
—and I—I am no witch. 

Elizabeth ( laughs ). They all say that. (A 
pause in which Margaret first sees her danger.) 
All they that are not for me are against me. 

Margaret ( passionately ). Then I—I—am 

against thee, against thee, against thee- 

Mather {entering) . Foul fiend, thou shalt not 
prevail! {Takes Margaret’s hand.) Can this be 
the daughter of Mary Scott? I knew thy mother, 
child. 

Margaret {tremulously). O sir, if you knew 
my mother, if you felt aught of kindness toward 
her, send me hence. Get me sent back to Rowley, 
or anywhere I may earn my bread, away from 
Salem, away- 

Mather {kindly). My child, wouldst flee the 
devil so? The devil is everywhere. 

Elizabeth ( horrified). Not here? Not in this 
godly room? 

Mather. Yea, even here I have fought the 
devil oft. For this it is exposes man to Satan’s 
wrath, that man should seek to do the will of God. 

Margaret {shyly). And must one suffer then 
for doing good? 

Mather. Ay, child, for Satan knoweth his 
time is short. 

Margaret {hesitating). I have heard it said 




196 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


the—the devil was no person but just wickedness 
inside us- 

Mather (frowning). Whence got you that 
doctrine—from the devil—or Robert Calef? 

Margaret. I—I heard Mr. Calef speak once— 
with—with my father, ere he died. 

Mather. There is indeed need for prayer; let 
us kneel down. (Kneels at Griggs’ chair in center. 
Prays.) Almighty God- 

Margaret kneels at table at right, Elizabeth 
draws on hood and starts for door. 

Elizareth. Satan is whispering in my ear; 
Satan is whispering in my ear! I may not kneel, I 
won’t, I won’t, I tell you! 

Mather (continues praying, turning slightly to¬ 
ward Elizabeth). —be with this maid; free her 
from Satan’s power! Christ Jesus, cast the devils 
out of her, as at Gadara! 

Elizabeth (returns and kneels on Mather’s 
left, saying sweetly). The devil is gone; thy words 
have driven him away—like a little yellow bird he 
flew away. 

Mather. O Lord, thy mercy is from everlast¬ 
ing. Be with this other maid in whom the devil 
hath sowed tares as doubts, that she doth call in 
question the wisdom of her fathers. Be present 
with them that they sign no devil’s book- 

Elizabeth looks up furtively; her lips move but 
the words come from without. 

Voice. Sign the book! Sign the book! And 
thine shall be the kingdoms of this world and all the 
power and glory—— 





MARGARET OF SALEM 


197 


Margaret glances scornfully at Elizabeth 
across Mather's back . 

Mather ( speaking with greater energy). Thou 
devil’s voice—get thee behind me! For thine, O 
Lord, shall be the kingdom and the power and glory, 
world without end! And all the scoffers, whore¬ 
mongers—God—that a soul should sell itself to the 
devil! For wealth or pleasure here, sign the devil’s 
book! 

Voice. Sign the book! Sign the book! 

Mather {rising). Avaunt! I will not sign it, 
no, not I! 

Lord, strengthen thou mine hand. Here to my 
sermon which I preach tomorrow before all Boston, 
here I set my mark. 

{He goes to the desk. Margaret is crouching 
low, regarding him with horror. Elizabeth’s face 
is buried in her hands.) 

No devil’s document do I sign; I set my name to 
th’ exposition of the word of God. {Signs sermon 
and straightens with relief.) 

Thank God the tempter is gone—; {Knock.) —he 
was a shadow. 

Lord, I tend my sheep, but there be those who 
have gone astray—unbelievers, in whom the prince 
of this world hath darkened their eyes—let thy 
curse be upon them and scatter them- 

Robert Calef enters. He carries a roll of parch¬ 
ment. 

Calef. Curses are devil’s words, Cotton Mather. 

The girls rise and draw back to right. Mather 
stays back of table. 

Mather. Robert Calef? What do you here, 
Robert Calef? 



198 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Calef. Mr. Mather, I am the bearer of a petition 
to the magistrates, which, knowing your genuine 
kindliness, I have fair hopes you will sign. 

Mather. Its purport, sir? 

Calef. In behalf of one poor woman, falsely 
accused. 

Mather. Her name? 

Calef. Rebecca Nurse. 

Elizabeth. Oh! Oh! Oh save me, Mr. Calef! 
She is standing just behind you—all in chains— 
protect me, sir. ( She seizes his hand which he 
yields reluctantly.) 

Mather. Peace, child! (To Calef.) She is one 
of the afflicted children. 

Calef (grimly). I have met with Mistress Hub¬ 
bard; I can guess how much she is afflicted. 

Elizabeth (greatly enjoying herself). She 
pincheth me—yea, she torments me. (Calef drops 
her hand.) 

Mather. You see, sir, with your eyes how she 
is hurt. 

Calef (contemptuously). She should be 
whipped. 

Elizabeth (darts him an angry glance and turns 
to Mather). Mr Mather, put out your arm. 
(Mather takes her hand.) Ah! (With relief.) 
She is flown! 

Mather. Oblige me, sir, by leaving, lest you 
do this child more harm; your lingering here is 
fruitless. (He still holds Elizabeth’s hand.) 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


199 


Calef. You will not sign? The woman is a 
saint on earth. 

Voice {outside.) Sign the book! Sign the book! 

Mather turns startled. The eyes of Calef and 
Margaret meet and agree. 

Mather. Ah, I understand now the where¬ 
fore of the temptation; here is my answer which 
I preach tomorrow. {Points to sermon.) 

Calef {beginning to lose his temper). You are 
possessed yourself, Mr. Mather. Take those af¬ 
flicted children; whip ’em well, and we’ll hear less 
o’ witchcraft. 

I grant you sincere, Minister of Boston, but 
this delusion must cease- 

Mather. Sir- 

Calef. For men will tolerate it not much longer. 

Mather. Sir, only those deny the devil who are 
possessed. 

Calef. Pshaw. {Turns away.) 

Mather. If there be no devil, there is no God. 

Calef. You will not sign to save one poor old 
woman ? 

Mather. No. 

Calef. It has been signed by many brave men; 
it is their protest of courage and truth and enlighten¬ 
ment. For the last time, will you not sign it? 

Mather. No ! 

Calef turns to door. 




200 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Margaret ( advancing center). O sir, say that 
again! ( To Calef.) 

Calef (turning). Say what, Mistress? 

Margaret. All that ending with “Pshaw!” 

Calef (smiling). Faith, have I won a disciple 
—in Mr. Mather’s household? 

Mather. Margaret, leave the room! 

Margaret (to Calef). Is it really true—I mean 
that there be no devil and no witches? 

Mather. Go, sir, go—and let me tell you, no 
man of my congregation shall dare sign your pe¬ 
tition. 

Margaret. Mr. Calef—I am only a woman— 
but—may I sign? 

Mather. I forbid it; you are mad. 

Calef slowly spreads petition out on table, dips 
pen in ink and offers it, keeping his eyes fixed on her. 

Margaret (takes pen and turns to Mather). I 
will not be coward longer. I have been half crazed 
with fear, believing as you believe, but at the first 
breath of truth I know it. I do not believe in 
witches or the devil; I do not believe in powers of 
darkness. (She draws a long breath and signs.) 

Elizabeth (looking at her with horror) . Avoid! 
Avoid! In the name of God, avoid. 

O Mr. Mather, Mr. Mather, a little bird is whis¬ 
pering in her ear, a little yellow bird—I am afeard. 
(She runs shrieking from room.) 

Mather (to Calef). Begone! You have done 
mischief enough. (He hastens after Elizabeth.) 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


201 


Calef ( slowly folding petition ). Mistress, I re¬ 
pent me of this day's work. 

Margaret. Ah, not I! 

Calef ( kindly ). I fear me you do not see- 

Margaret. I have seen it long, but dared not 
face it—till now. Now I am free. Free for the 
first time since my father died, and I was sent to 
Salem. 

Calef. Salem is no place for you. 

Margaret {drearily). Salem is a small gray 
prison. 

Calef. Must you go back ? 

Margaret. I have nowhere else to go; yet maybe 
now my uncle’ll not receive me. 

Calef. I must see you again. 

Margaret {smiling). Your name is Anathema 
Maranatha in Dr. Griggs’s house. 

Calef. Still I must see you. Where can we 
meet in safety? 

Margaret. There’s no place but the graveyard 
—or gallow’s hill. 

Calef {making a wry face). What matter? 

Margaret {laughing oddly). The only free spot 
in Salem is the graveyard, the only safe spot in 
Salem! 

Calef {eagerly). Three days hence? 

Margaret. At sunsetting. 

I’m no light maid, sir, but I would hear more of 



202 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


your teachings—you understand, do you not?—I 
mean that there be no witches and no devil; he 
seems so real at times. 

Calef. I understand. Fare thee well, Mistress; 
keep thy heart merry, and let the devil take—the 
devil. (He smiles, bows and goes.) 

Mather and Griggs brush past him coming in. 

Mather. Here is the maid. (To Margaret.) 
Fast and pray—fast and pray! for I see the devils 
fighting for possession. 

Griggs. My wench, “Haeresis est maxima, max¬ 
ima, opera maleficarum non credere.” 

CURTAIN. 


ACT III. 

The graveyard of Salem. 

Between audience and stage, a few pine trees, 
mostly bare at base, silhouette blackly against sky. 
Late sunset, changing to night. A few dark pine 
trees stand out against the sunset. 

Margaret is lying prone on the ground. A great 
bell tolls at intervals. She rises quickly as Calef 
enters. 

Margaret. Robert! Thou shouldst not have 
come hither again. Once was too much and this 
is now many times. 

Calef. What would you? One meeting for the 
disciple—but many more for the maid. (He takes 
her in his arms but presently she draws away.) 

Margaret. O Robert, that first day when I 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


203 


came—was it so short a time ago?—I came fear¬ 
lessly, for I came to meet a teacher—a master- 

Calef. And found—a man. 

Margaret. And now—it can be so no longer. 
( They pace to and fro.) 

Calef. Thou art right; thou must come away. 
Thou shalt give me the right to take thee away. 

Margaret. Whither? To Boston? (Calef 
nods.) Ah, I fear Boston nigh as much as Salem. 
Mr. Mather lives in Boston 

Calef. Mather! Thou dost not fear him? 

Margaret {shivering). I—fear him. {The hell 
tolls.) 

Ah, that bell! It hath tolled the livelong day. 
They have hanged her, Rebecca Nurse, the poor 
old soul; for a witch they have hanged her, with 
the other four—and I feel the guilt of all upon me. 

Calef {sharply). Rouse thee; thou art dis¬ 
traught. 

Margaret. I am a coward. I hate myself— 
but it is so. Why were they hanged, tell me, why 
were they hanged? 

Calef. Not through thy witness, but because 
of thy cousin Elizabeth and the other lying wenches. 

Margaret. And I—was silent. I was afraid— 
afraid to go against them and say they lied. 

Calef. You spoke, yea and bravely, in behalf 
of Rebecca Nurse. 

Margaret. Weakly and like a coward—once. 

Calef {decisively). Margaret, this must cease. 



204 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


You must be got away frotn Salem. I will take 
you to the southward, to the Dutch at the Manhatoes 
where there’s freedom- 

Margaret. Hark! Dost thou hear a murmur? 

Calef. ’Tis the pine trees. Or we could go 
together to the frontiers? Leave Boston for the 
devil to roam in and seek God in the wilderness? 
Eh, Margaret? 

Margaret. And the banns? My uncle’ll not 
consent. 

Calef (snapping his fingers). That for his com 
sent! I’ll find a way- 

Margaret. I fear for thee; thou art passionate 
and he hates thee. And Mr. Mather hates thee 
also. 

Calef. I am indifferent so that thou lovest me. 

Margaret. At first—thou wert as light shining 
in darkness- 

Calef. And then-? 

Margaret. Then thou wert just —Robert Calef. 
(She smiles suddenly up at him.) 

Calef. Just Robert Calef—but possessed by 
twenty thousand devils when he thinks of how 
they have browbeaten you. 

Come, dear one, we’ll go together ; I’ll have it 
out with the Doctor. 

Margaret ( shrinking ). Ah no, no, not tonight! 
Tomorrow—when the sunshine’s bright and clear. 

Calef. But I must leave tonight for Boston 
and beyond—may be a week ’ere I can see thee. 





MARGARET OF SALEM 


205 


Margaret. Maybe then —the darkness will have 
lifted. 

Calef ( teasingly). Thou fearest the darkness? 

Margaret. Do not—tease me. Tell me there’s 
naught to fear. 

Calef {promptly). There’s naught to fear. 

Margaret. A lie! 

Where there is love is there not always fear for 
the loved one? 

Calef {soberly). God knows there is, Margaret. 
There be no powers of hell or of darkness; but while 
there is hate or ignorance there is fear. 

Margaret. Fear? Hate? These be powers 
of darkness enough. 

Calef. They shall not touch thee. Ah, Margaret, 
I love thee! In love is strength and courage and 
great might. 

Margaret. Is there a perfect love which cast9 
out fear? 

Calef. Fear for self—yes! 

Margaret. I spoke not of fear for self—what 
are those shadows? {She speaks the last words al¬ 
most under her breath, breaks off and stares into 
distance, then turns to him.) Thou must go, Rob¬ 
ert, go! 

Calef. Nay, I’ll come with thee tonight; it’s 
growing late. 

Margaret {in a passion of entreaty). No, no, 
prithee go! Thou must not— I’ll not be seen with 
thee- 


206 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Calef. Then promise me—get thee home to bed, 
away from all these vapours. When I return, when 
the sun shines bright and clear, I’ll come for thee 
in the face of all Salem. Promise me, dear one. 

Margaret. I promise thee. (He goes. She 
gases after him dreamily.) Where there is love— 
we fear for those we love. He must not—be seen 
with me. ’Twould work him injury. (She starts, 
and again searches distance.) 

Faint song in distance growing stronger as singer 
approaches. 


SONG: Old English. 

“Summer is i’ comen in; Loudly sing: Cuckoo! 

Groweth seed and bloweth mead 

And springeth the wood anew. 

Sing. . . . 

The song breaks off abruptly and a voice calls. 

Voice of Anne Putnam. Who’s there? Who’s 
there ? Avoid! 

Anne Putnam enters, followed slowly by Eliz¬ 
abeth. It is now fully dark. 

Margaret. Is it thou, Anne? 

Anne. O Margaret! O thou did’st fright me! 
What art doing? 

O Margaret, art thou a witch? 

Margaret. A witch? Thou knowest I be none. 

Anne (doubtfully) . I know not. Elizabeth and 
the others say thou be’st. 

Margaret. Have I tormented thee, sweet Anne ? 

Anne. N—no—o. How should I know? I 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


207 


never see them that torment me. Elizabeth and 
Mary—they tell me. 

But what wast doing, Margaret—here alone in 
the night—if thou be’st no witch? 

Elizabeth ( slowly ). Ay, what wast doing? 
(Margaret is silent.) Anne, prithee stand yonder 
and warn us ere they come. (Anne goes.) 

Margaret. They? 

Elizabeth. Thou art accused 

Margaret. By thee? 

Elizabeth {uneasily). By all of us. Thou hast 
left us no choice. 

Margaret. No choice? 

Go to the Justice and say ye lied; five poor old 
women are hanged, though innocent. Or, if ye fear 
to bear your own deeds’ burden, say that ye erred, 
but now ye see the truth. 

Elizabeth {sullenly). ’Tis too late; we may not 
eat our words. 

Margaret {with grozmng excitement). Five 
have ye hanged and yet ye say ye had no choice. 
And when five more are hanged, what then? Will 
ye go on accusing? 

Elizabeth. Till I have paid my scot. 

Margaret, thou dost not know Saiem, the mean 
women’s tongues, the hardness of men. Two years 
since—’twas naught I did—mere folly, but the good 
folk of Salem cried out upon me; they shall pay! 
Devils in women’s garb! 

Margaret. And so thou hast accused me—thy 
cousin. Elizabeth, thou canst not mean it. Why— 
our mothers were sisters; we are near of kin. 


208 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Elizabeth. Listen Margaret, I still may save 
thee, if thou—who was he that was here tonight? 
Was it Robert Calef? Answer me! Was he 
Robert Calef? (Margaret faces her stubbornly .) 
Ah, it was he then. And these three times past ? 

The dumb devils have got thee sure enough. 

Margaret. What is it to thee ? 

Elizabeth. This it is to me—I hate him! He 
dares to stand against us—and he hath power. 

He hath bewitched thee; thou must swear to it. 

Margaret. Thou shalt not injure Robert Calef; 
thou shalt not! Shalt not! 

Elizabeth. ’Tis since thou mettest with him 
thou hast fallen away from us. 

Cousin, come back to us; be not so strange! 

Margaret {passionately) . I was never with you, 
never! Nor am I kin to you! Not though our 
mothers were sisters a thousand times! 

Anne runs in. 

Anne. There is a twinkle of lights near Mr. 
Sewall’s. 

Elizabeth ( feigning great agitation). Help me, 
Anne, lest I faint! Away! Away! ( The two girls 
hasten away to right.) 

Margaret looks about her despairingly , takes a 
few steps after them. At the same moment a 
lanthorn’s rays steal in from right. 

Voices. This way! 

The maids said they heard strange noises. 

Constable, Thomas Putnam and other men 
enter. They hold up lanthorns. 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


209 


Putnam. Ah! Aroint thee, witch! ( All cross 
thumb and forefinger .) 

Margaret {piteously). Do you mean me? 

Surely, sirs, ye know I be no witch. 

Constable {clapping hand on her shoulder). I 
arrest thee in the name of the commonwealth of 
Massachusetts; charged with the detestable act of 
witchcraft. 

Putnam. Who was here with you—whom the 
maids heard? Was it Satan, your master? Speak! 

Another Man. Speak! If ’twas a man—and 
he of Salem, we’ll lesson him. 

Another Man. Witch! 

Another Man. We’ll hang him up beside thee. 

Another Man. ’A flew off like a bat; I saw 
him go. 

The men speak confusedly, some together. 

Margaret. I—I—O sirs, I am just a maid; I 
hold no converse with devils. {Breaks off and runs 
to Griggs who enters slowly and gravely.) O Uncle, 
Uncle, they call me “Witch!” They call me 
“Witch!” And thou knowest I be none. 

Griggs {gravely). Hast thou not given them 
reason ? 

A Man. Aye, that she hath, sir! She hath 
stolen here to talk with her familiar! 

Another Man. Woman o’ Babylon! 

Griggs. Grant me to speak one moment apart 
with her. 


210 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Constable. Thou canst not banish the devil, 
Doctor. He’s too strong for ye. 

The men draw apart from Margaret and 
Griggs, and converse in low tones. 

Griggs. My child, Elizabeth hath told me how 
thou art in the power of this man, Robert Calef. 
Go now with me and swear against him before 
witnesses and thou art free. 

Margaret. Thou too? ( She draws stiffly away.) 

Griggs. If he have a spark of manhood in him 
he will come forward and avow these meetings. He 
should bear the brunt of this. 

Margaret ( with slow anger). And if he doth, 
I shall deny it. 

Griggs (losing his temper and grasping her 
shoulder, shaking her). That thou shalt not. 

Margaret; Aye, but I will! 

Griggs ( throwing her from him). If thou hast 
so fallen under Robert Calef’s influence, it is meet 
that thy body suffer. ( To Constable.) 

Take her, sir constable; witches must perish. 

Constable (placing his hand on her shoulderj. 
Come, maid, away! 

All turn and go, the ianthorn y s rays gradually 
leaving all in darkness. 


curtain. 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


211 


ACT IV. 

The anteroom or corridor between door and 
courtroom. 

In the center of a putty-colored wall is a large 
double door; one constable, with leather corselet, 
leather boots, broad sash, helmet and pike, guards 
the door. The small doors at right and left lead re¬ 
spectively out of doors, and to the small room where 
prisoners await trial. Bench against right wall. 

A few old crones are clustered about door, trying 
to enter. They are clad in the visual dingy garb. 
Red cloaks were probably taboo among the 
<( Brethren, ,, but they add greatly to the effective¬ 
ness of the scene. 

A second constable enters room through the great 
door. The women surge forward. Constable 
planks himself before right side. 

Second Constable (pushing them back). Back! 
Back, I tell you! Room’s crowded to the full. 
( Women fall back.) 

First Constable (at left side). No standing 
room, much less a seat, Mother. 

Second Constable {grins). Unless thou be’st 
a witch and can sit on rafter. {A crone on his side 
tries to slip under his arm.) Back, woman, back! 

Old Crone {at right of door). I, a witch? Nay, 
nay! Many a time the devil’s come to me to sign 
a paper wi’ him, saying I should be queen o’ hell, 
but I wouldna’, I wouldna’. 

Rather this ragged petticoat than silk o’ the devil’s 
purchase! 

Second Constable. Well, Mary Easty, within 
there, she never wore devil’s clothes, neither. 
Hark’ee! {Puts ear to crack.) 


212 


MAjRGARET OF SALEM 


Goody Bibber (at left of door). Ay, but the 
other minx they try today, Margaret, she went 
dressed like a maypole on a village green. Eve 
seen her. (Other women nod assent.) 

Goody Martin (at left of Goody Bibber, to 
Constable). Have they condemned her? Is 
Mary Easty condemned? 

Second Constable (listening). Ay, they’ve 
condemned her. Nay—sh! (He opens door a 
crack so that Mary Easty’s voice is heard.) 

Mary Easty. “—petition your honors, not for 
my own life, for I know I must die, but if it be 
possible that no more innocent blood may be shed, 
which cannot be avoided in the way you go in—I 
would humbly beg of your honours that you would 
be pleased to examine the afflicted persons strictly 
and apart, and I question not but that the Lord will 
give a blessing to your endeavours.” 

The Second Constable leaves door and goes 
to side room on right, whence he reappears leading 
Margaret Scott. Mary Easty enters from court 
room, led by Marshal. The women fall back in 
silence before her, the old crone to right, the other 
women to left. Mary Easty and Margaret meet 
in center. 

Mary Easty (to Margaret). Bless thee, my 
child! 

Margaret. Thou art condemned? 

Mary Easty. Ay, child! But for my sister’s 
sake, I bless thee. Thou did’st dare speak for my 
sister, Rebecca Nurse. 

Margaret (in a dull, tired voice). But she is 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


213 


hanged for a witch—as thou and I shall be—and 
many, many more. 

And all the while there be no witches. 

Marshal (surrendering Mary Easty to Con¬ 
stable and taking Margaret). Peace! Peace! 

(The women try to slip into court room; he pushes 
them roughly aside.) Make way, old hags! ( He 
leads Margaret into court; the Second Constable 
takes Mary Easty out, then returns.) 

Crone (as door shuts in her face). May the 
foul fiend seize him! 

First Constable (peeking). Sh! Sh! They re 
opening wi’ prayer. (He opens door a crack.) 

Prayer (heard indistinctly). O thou Hope of 
New England —look mercifully down upon this 
court. Let Satan he bruised, Lord, beneath our 
feet, and let the covenanted vassals of Satan be 
gloriously conquered by thy gracious presence in 
the midst of us. 

(The women kneel during prayer.) 

All (within and without) Amen! 

Goody Bibber (in a loud whisper). Are they 
all there—the afflicted children? 

First Constable. Ay! 

Goody Bibber. The prisoner was one of them, 
warn’t she? 

Crone. Yea, but ’a hath a dumb devil. 

Goody Martin. What's goin’ on there? 

First Constable (turns to women and winks). 
She saith she is not guilty. 

Goody Martin. They all say that. 


214 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Second Constable. She hath not the look of 
a witch. 

Crone. How like a man! Because she’s fair 
to look on! Don’t ’ee know the devil always has 
his way wi’ such? 

Second Constable. Why doth he oftenest 
choose old crones like you, then? 

Crone ( laughing shrilly). Bless the man! The 
devil never chooses us old bodies; we’re no use to 
him. ’Tis his black art. He throws suspicion on 
the aged to protect his lambs. 

Second Constable shrugs. First Constable, 
who has kept his ear to crack, motions for silence. 
All draw nearer. 

Goody Bibber. How goes it? Tell us. 

First Constable. Poor wenches! Poor af¬ 
flicted children! ’Tis a most grievous sight. Look 
you, when the witch doth but move her head, the 
children must waggle theirs. What’er she doth, 
they are afflicted so they must do likewise. 

Crone ( pushing forward). Let me see! 

The Constables, placing their pikes across door 
to forbid entrance, allow the women to peek in 
turn. As each makes room for the next, she wags 
her head sadly. 

Crone. It is her master Satan in her body. I 
know! I know! 

Goody Bibber (to Crone). Poor Mistress 
Hubbard! My heart bleeds for her. She seemeth 
the worst afflicted. 

First Constable (peeking again). Sh! women 
—sh! (After a pause.) They ask her who was wi’ 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


215 


her i’ th* graveyard, if ’twas not her master the 
devil? She doth not speak, nor even open mouth. 

Second Constable ( knowingly ). She hath 
scarce answered them a single word save to say 
she was not guilty. 

Goody Bibber (to Crone). Still the dumb 
devil ? 

Goody Martin (peeks, then turns hack). Ah, 
the poor young maiden—wi’ all against her! 

Slowly all present turn and look at Goody Mar¬ 
tin. 

Goody Martin (advancing and speaking un¬ 
easily). Nay, gossips, one may pity even a witch. 

Goody Bibber (virtuously drawing a Httle 
away). As for me, I keep my pity for the af¬ 
flicted children, who are most horribly beaten and 
tormented, yea even made to faint by this horrid 
witch. 

Second Constable (at crack). One hath fainted 
even now. Make way! Make way! They bring 
her out for air. 

In the hustle that follows, the Marshal enters, 
supporting Elizabeth to bench against right wall. 
Abigail follows. The Marshal returns to court 
room and door is shut. The women draw near 
Elizabeth. 

Crone (bending over Elizabeth). Eh, dearie, 
did the black witch hurt thee, dearie? 

Abigail. How is it with thee, Elizabeth? 

Elizabeth (faintly). Where am I? Oh! She 
strangleth me! She will not have me witness 
against her. (Women rub her hands and head.) 


216 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


First Constable ( looking through door). Now 
they have bound her hands. 

Elizabeth ( breathing rapidly and rising). Ah, 
now I am well! She cannot torment me now. 

Crone. The horrid witch. There dearie, lean 
on me. 

Elizabeth. Since we came from Boston she 
hath not ceased to torment me. She hath not 
ceased to torment me since in Boston she met wi’ 
Robert Calef. 

Second Constable {in surprise ). Robert 
Calef! ! ! 

Elizabeth {briefly). He hath a devil. 

Second Constable {smiling). No, no, mistress! 
Robert Calef mixeth not in these affairs. 

Elizabeth {eyeing the Constable). Robert 
Calef hath a devil. 

The Women draw to right of Elizabeth. 

Second Constable {uneasily) . Can it be. 

Elizabeth {holding up her hand for silence). 
He was by her side a-whispering in her ear—I saw 
him—bidding her not betray that it was he who 
taught her devil’s dealings. 

First Constable. Is that the reason why she 
will not speak? 

Elizabeth. Yea, in the devil’s own likeness he 
stood by her. 

There is a clatter of hoofs without; all turn to¬ 
ward door on left. 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


217 


Second Constable. Some one rides in haste. 

Elizabeth {with premonition, cries). It is 
Calef! Robert Calef! 

Calef enters hastily, splashed from hard riding. 
The Constables and Women look at Elizabeth 
zmth awe. 

Constables. Lord ha’ mercy! 

Calef {to Constables). Let me pass! {The 
Constables draw together in front of the door.) 

First Constable. The room is full, Mr. Calef. 

Calef. I have the Governor’s permit. 

Elizabeth {advancing). The room is full. 

Calef {paying no attention to her). Look you, 
I am come hither in Mistress Scott’s defence. Do 
ye not honor the Governor’s name here in this town 
of Salem ? Let me pass! 

The Constables look uneasy as Calef forces the 
paper upon them. 

Second Constable. I have orders from the 
Justice, Mr. Calef- 

Elizabeth {seises the paper, studies it, then 
drops it as though it burnt her). This is the devil’s 
mark—not the Governor’s! 

The Constables and Women back hastily away. 

Calef. Wilt take a message ? 

Second Constable {relieved). Ay, that will 
I, Mr. Calef. 


218 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Calef scribbles on paper which Second Con¬ 
stable takes within. 

Elizabeth {laughs). Even the devil cannot 
save her now, Mr. Calef. 

Second Constable ( returning ). The Justice 
says, Mr. Calef, the prisoner is permitted no de¬ 
fence—and the room is full. 

Calef (making for door). Stand aside, fellows! 

Constables (forcing him back). Nay, sir, the 
room is crowded sir! 

The Justice bade us restrain you, sir. (They 
speak together.) 

Calef. Is it the beginning or—the end? 

Second Constable. The end. 

Elizabeth. The end of the trial of Margaret 
Scott—on which shall follow the trial of—Robert 
Calef. 

Calef (faces her, eyes her for a moment, then de¬ 
liberately laughs). Try it, Mistress! 

Elizabeth retreats before him. 

There is a sound of outcries within, then a hush. 
Calef flings himself against one Constable, throws 
him aside, then struggles with the other, who stands 
with back squarely against door. Calef is repulsed. 
All stand waiting a moment in silence, then the 
Constable stoops and listens; he opens door a 
crack. Cries from within. Witch! Witch! Aroint 
thee! 

Second Constable. They have condemned 
her. Now you shall see her, sir. They lead her out 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


219 


this way. ( To Women who are again crowding 
forward.) Away there, you! 

The door is thrown open . The Marshal enters 
with Margaret in irons, followed by Griggs, 
Parris, Putnam, who stay back, and Anne and 
Mary, who move down front, left. Abigail circles 
around back to join them. 

Calef. Mistress— (Margaret raises her head 
dazedly and looks at him as though at a stranger.) 
—if there be common law in Massachusetts, if there 
be any justice in this people, this trial, where no de¬ 
fence is allowed the accused, shall not go unchal¬ 
lenged. 

Parris. Silence, man! The common law is for 
common times; but in these times of stress and 
turmoil, the law, like all things else, must bow to 
necessity. 

Calef. Is it true? Is it true? Shall it be true 
of this new land? Shall Justice be a thing wrapped 
in pink wool—to be taken out in times of tranquil 
peace; in times of stress and turmoil shall we keep 
it—in swaddling bands? No, a thousand times, no! 
The common law is for times of unrest, war,—and 
the like. {He turns direct to Margaret.) 

I will to every magistrate in Boston. There shall 
be another trial, and at that trial I shall be beside 
you. 

Crone. She hath a devil, master; speak not for 
her. 

Goodwife Martin. Speak not for her. She hath 
met wi’ th’ devil at even, back o’ the graveyard, 
master. 

Elizbeth {to Calef). Ay, you shall stand be¬ 
side her—as you have stood. {Goes close to Mar¬ 
garet.) Who was he with thee in the graveyard, 


220 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Margaret? Unless thou confess it, thou shalt 
surely hang. 


Calef (astounded). Was it for that-? 

Ay, I was with her in the graveyard—the only 
place in this little canting town where lovers could 
meet—the shadow of the grave. ( Rounds on 
Griggs.) As you well know, I was there to plight 
my troth- 

Griggs. Ay, was it you? 


Elizabeth. Was it you who fled away when the 
people took her? Then you, too, have a devil. 

Mary. 


Anne. 


* Avoid! Avoid! (They edge away.) 


Abigail. 

Elizabeth. Hearken! I accuse him of the sin 
of witchcraft! He was there in the graveyard with 
her; I heard his voice a-teaching her black arts but 
I could not see him. 


Griggs (paternally to Margaret). Was it his 
voice they heard? Think well. Confess the truth 
and save thy soul alive an cl eke thy body. Was it 
Calef’s voice? 


Margaret (laughing feverishly , advances). His 
voice ? They heard the wind i’ th’ pines and shrieked, 
“A devil!” They’ll see a devil i’ th’ pale o’ th’ 
moon, or th’ bloom o’ th’ mayflower, i’ th’ old crone 
or th’ young maid; but never, never do they see him 
i’ th’ whisperings o’ their own hearts. 

His voice? Why, I was a-mumbling charms to 
th’ moon, and singing and crying down curses on 
your children. 

O to think o’t! It is not possible—you know it 
is not possible. 





MARGARET OF SALEM 


221 


Crone. She is possessed. 

Putnam. Bravo Mistress! 

Calef. Heed her not; it was I! 

Goodwife Martin. Go to—he lies to save her. 

Parris. She hath confessed. The witch hath 
confessed. 

Margaret ( turning on Children—Elizabeth 
has joined others.) And you, afflicted children— 
{Laughs.) AFFLICTED children! Liars! Hypo¬ 
crites ! Ye play a part. {The Children cry out as 
though tormented.) But if I could afflict you, ah 
—’twould be no play-acting ye show the people. 

Parris {advancing). Peace, woman! 

Margaret {turning fiercely on Elizabeth). For 
that thou hast sought to hang Robert Calef along 
with me, there shall be punishment, I know it well— 
and it doth glad me—glad me—glad me-. 

Griggs. Peace, peace, I tell thee. {He makes 
sign to Marshal to proceed.) 

Margaret. There is no peace; there is only fear 
and hate. 

O I believe in the powers of darkness, good 
uncle. I no longer deny the sight o’ my eyes, the 
hearing o’ my ears. 

The devil hath conquered, good uncle, thou hast 
conquered. 

All present huddle to door , crying: Avoid! Avoid! 

The Marshal drags her to door. 


} {They speak 
together.) 


curtain. 


222 


MAJRGARET OF SALEM 


ACT V. 

The road leading to Gallows Hill. The place is 
rocky, uneven, leading abruptly up-hill at the back. 
A few scraggy pine trees at back. Desolation. 

A number of the townspeople are waiting, at least 
ten. Among them are bold and timid, those beginning 
to see a glimmer of daylight and those in blackest 
superstition. The foremost group are those most 
eager to see the hanging, waiting with fearful joy. 
The others are to the right. 

Putnam. When do they bring them out? 

First Citizen. At noon. 

Second Citizen. ’Tis past. 

Third Citizen. Perchance the devil hath 
whisked ’em away on a broomstick. 

Fourth Citizen. I wonder that the devil canna 
save his own. 

First Citizen. I say he doth; I say they do 
not suffer at all in hanging. Satan beareth the soul 
away before the rope toucheth body. 

Sixth Citizen. There they come! There they 
come! 

Seventh Citizen. Who’s that wi’ Margaret 
Scott ? 

Eighth Citizen. ’Tis Robert Calef; she is his 
light-o-love. 

Putnam. No such thing, woman! 

Eighth Citizen. I say she is, He was wi’ her in 
the graveyard. 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


223 


Putnam. Tut! ’Twas the devil in Robert 
Calebs shape. 

Ninth Citizen. Men say he hath been to th’ 
Governor in Boston. 

First Citizen. Look! Look yonder! What 
doth Cotton Mather here in Salem? 


Second Citizen. See him eye Robert Calef. 

Third Citizen. Mayhap he fears lest Calef 
snatch the witch out of his clutches. 


The Marshal enters with Mary Easty, Mar¬ 
garet Scott, the First Constable, Mather, 
Parris, Calef and others. The nearest citizens, 
First, Second and Third shrink back, giving 
place to bolder ones . 

First 


Second 


^Citizens. Avoid! Avoid! 


Third 


As Marshal conies forward, the Sixth, 
Seventh, Eighth, Ninth citizens are forced back 
to left front. Tenth citizen remains at back. 

Fifth Citizen. Ha’ done, Cotton Mather; 
enough have suffered. 


Sixth Citizen {threateningly) . You are hang¬ 
ing God’s elect. 

Crone {hobbles forward from right hand group). 
Nay, nay, let the witches hang! 

Seventh Citizen. Ha’ done! Ha’ done! Ye 
have hanged enough; eleven are enough. 



224 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Mather ( advancing). People of Salem, ye who 
say enough are hanged, eleven are enough, I say 
eleven nor eleven thousand are not enough to purge 
Christ’s kingdom. 

Have ye not read in Holy Scripture how he that 
was possessed of the devil had the legion? Dread¬ 
ful to be spoken! A legion! Know ye that a 
legion consisteth of twelve thousand, five hundred 
devils ? 

Will ye let one witch escape and thereby have 
twelve thousand, five hundred devils in your midst? 

Cries {from right hand). No! No! 

Calef. Cotton Mather, devils will flourish while 
you feed men with lies. 

Mather. Robert Calef, thou lost man-! 

Enter Second Constable from above, back. 

Second Constable. Mr. Mather, there is an 
uneasy movement in the people yonder—the sheriff 
fears delay—lest they plan rescue- 

Mather. I’ll be with him straight. 

He goes out back ; some of the people stream out 
after him. A bell begins to toll. Margaret shrinks 
away. The people move toward back of place, look - 
ing eagerly upward. 

Calef (to Margaret). Courage! 

Margaret. I fear to die—feeling hate, this tide 
of hate which wells in me. ( Turns to him.) Thou 
hast said how we who die suffer that light may 
come to others. 

Idle words! 

How may light come through me—who feel only 
darkness ? 




MARGARET OF SALEM 


225 


Calef ( with his head sunk on his chest). Light 
hath come to me through thee, Marg’ret. 

Margaret ( taking a step nearer to him). Ah, 
no, no! From thee to me! Thou hast taught me 
*—shown me—. Thou the master; I the scholar. 

Calef (Loking off to crowd and clenching his 
fists). Oh if they had only attacked me—the cow¬ 
ards ! But that thou must suffer—through the 
teaching! ( He turns partly away.) 

Margaret ( pressing closer). No, no, Robert, 
I felt it all—ere I saw thee. Ah! ( She shrinks 
again as the hell tolls, then she stiffens with anger.) 
Ah, they shall suffer who cause the death of us; 
they shall suffer, my uncle—Elizabeth—Mr. Mather. 
I do feel it and know it and it makes me glad. 

Mary Easty slightly turns toward her, smiling a 
denial. 

Calef. Margaret—no! 

Margaret. But I do! (A trifle scornfully.). Oh 
I know—I should make my peace with God. Peace 
with God—when they have forced me into league 
with the devil! ! !—have made me to take of the 
wine of fear, of the bread of hatred—devil’s sac¬ 
rament ! 

I was kindly—loving—I knew not I had this pas¬ 
sion in me. It is so strong I cannot rise above it— 
so I die. ( With a quick sob, as the Marshal en¬ 
ters.) Oh Robert, Robert, must I die? 

Marshal. Mary Easty, thou art summoned in 
the name of the commonwealth of Massachusetts. 

Margaret (taking a step toward Mary Easty 
and holding out her arms). Mary Easty, Mary 
Easty, God be with thee! 


226 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Mary Easty turns, gives the girl a loving look , 
and passes out with Marshal. 

Old Crone (to Margaret). Pratest thou of 
God? 

Margaret. If I have sinned—God only is my 
judge. 

The other members of the crowd press forward 
again, turning on her. 

Sixth Citizen. Margaret, Margaret, pray right 
now to God; he will pardon. 

Seventh Citizen. Ay, if indeed thou be’st no 
witch—pray, pray! 

Crone. She canna pray; witches ha’ lost the 
power. 

Sixth 

Citizens. Pray! See if she can 

Seventh V pra y i 

Eighth 

Ninth Citizen. Ay, say the Lord’s prayer for¬ 
ward—if you can. 

First Citizen. She cannot get beyond the “Our 
Father.” 

Second Citizen. It will be proof enow thou 
art a witch when thou stumble and grow still. 

All the Citizens. Say the prayer! Say the 
prayer! 

Calef. Men, do ye mean it? Are ye in earnest? 

Margaret motions to him; he bends toward her 
to listen. 



MARGARET OF SALEM 


227 


First Constable (to Second Constable). Hie 
ye to Mr. Mather; bid him come quick or the fools 
will free her. Haste ye! (Second Constable 
goes.) 

Margaret (to Calef). It may not aid me—but 
if I say the prayer, hereafter men may say, She 
was no witch; maybe we accuse others wrongly. It 
may turn the tide. 

Calef. The tide is turning. (He addresses 
people.) O let the Lord’s prayer be the sign! If 
she repeat it—without stumbling—she is proved— 
not a witch. Ye say so? 

Sixth Citizen. Ay, she canna say the prayer 
and be devil’s child. 

All Citizens. Let her pray! Let her pray! 

Mather enters from back with Second Con¬ 
stable. 

Mather. Who spoke? Would ye deny your 
Lord who cast out devils? 

Calef. Men, men, it is so he would cramp your 
souls. Hear ye his word: Those who deny the 
devil, deny God! 

Well, / deny the devil and all his works, and I say 
those deny God who believe in the devil. 

Look on this woman in the image of God and 
see the devil in her if you dare. 

Mather. Blasphemer! 

Calef. Who dares stand with me? 

Mather (quietly). Ay, who dares? 

There is a pause , then a few uneasy cries from 
the people, quickly gaining boldness. 


228 


MARGARET OF SALEM 


Citizens: The prayer! The prayer! Let her 
say the prayer! 

See if she say it straight wi’out a break! 

Forward—not backward! 

The prayer ! The prayer! 

Calef. If she repeat it so—who stands for her? 

All the Citizens {clearly). I! I! 

Putnam. Against the devil himself! 

Calef. Speak, Margaret, there is a chance. 

Margaret {slowly amid hush). Our father which 
art in heaven- 

The men slowly remove their hats. 

First Citizen. Stand from her, Robert Calef! 
Not too near! (Calef moves from her.) 

Margaret. Hallowed be Thy name! Thy king¬ 
dom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in 
heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and 
forgive us our trespasses as we—as—we—forgive 
—as we forgive—Oh no, no! Grant me more mercy. 
Lord, than I possess! Do Thou but grant me 
power to forgive! I ask no more—nor life nor 
nothing else—but only to forgive— dear God- 

Marshal enters during prayer. 

Marshal. Margaret Scott, thou art summoned 
in the name of the commonwealth of Massachusetts. 

Cries of relief from the crowd which surges for¬ 
ward, pushing against Constables who force them 
back. 

Cries of Citizens. Witch. 

Proven! 



MARGARET OF SALEM 


229 


Hang her! 

Aloft wi’ the devil’s child! 

Foul witch, aroint thee! 

(They cry together and separately .) 

Margaret ( to Calef). O tell them—tell them 
—I forgive! 

Finish thou the prayer, beloved. 

The people shrink away from her, as she passes 
out hack with the Marshal and Constables. 

Calef stretches out his arms after her, then sud¬ 
denly turns, lifting his arms to God. He sinks slowly 
on his knees. He repeats the Lord's prayer. 

Calef. Our Father which art in heaven, hal¬ 
lowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come; Thy 
will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us 
this day our daily bread, and forgive us our tres¬ 
passes as we— forgive —those that trespass against 
us. . . . And lead us not into temptation, but deliver 
us from evil. For thine is the kingdom—and the 
power—and the glory forever. 

Citizens (with unction) . Amen! 


The End. 










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